Bittersweet
by Caitie Manda
Summary: Hermione starts getting letters from Scott Logan, resident Hufflepuff Quidditch captain and seventh year. Strange things start occurring afterward: a mysterious prophecy, difficult riddle, and a quest to save someone from their untimely death... HG/CD pairing. AU, set during Hermione's sixth year at Hogwarts. Try it before you decide to skim over it!
1. Chapter One

_Author's Note__:_ And so, the tedious process of editing begins. I did tweak a quite a few scenes here and there, but it's essentially still the same story it's always been. I condensed a few of the shorter chapters into longer ones, and added in some new scenes to bulk up a couple chapters. Overall, I think that I like this version much better, and I hope you guys will, too. After all, it's the best I can give you, which is what you deserve for being such amazing readers and reviewers.

For those of you who just clicked this story for the first time, hello! It's been a marvelous adventure working on this, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it. And those of you who are returning readers, it's wonderfully nice to see you again, as always. :)

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><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I woke up this morning and thought to myself, "Wow, Joanne, you really are brilliant. Look at that magical book series you wrote. Look at all of your amazing fans who love your characters. Look at how your fans have held your story as number one in the Fan Fiction world." But then I remembered that I'm not Joanne and that my name is actually Caitlyn, and I sighed in disappointment as I realized it was all just a dream.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

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><p>"Be careful." she whispered, her almond-shaped brown eyes widening anxiously as she looked up from her place in her boyfriend's arms.<p>

"You know I will." The boy said, his gray orbs shining with honesty as she looked up at him. Her rose-colored lips parted as she sighed, her eyes closing as she turned her head away slightly.

"You can't say that." She murmured. She looked back up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears in the light. "People die doing this, Ced. It's not safe."

"I won't, Cho." Cedric replied, taking her chin and lifting it up to look at him. "I'll be fine." A single tear managed to escape, trailing down her face and glittering like a rare gem in the faint moonlight shining down on them from where they stood outside near the tents. He swiped it away gently with his thumb, tucking a few stray strands of her raven hair behind her ear. His eyes never left hers. "Trust me on this one, please."

She nodded slowly, swallowing hard. "O-okay." Her voice trembled as she spoke. They stood like that for a long moment, neither daring to move. They heard the call for Cedric and the others, and he sighed, taking one last look at Cho Chang before untangling his arms from around her waist and turning away, his natural bronze highlights gleaming in his wavy brown hair. "Cedric, wait." She said all of a sudden with a slight air of desperation in her voice, reaching out and lightly took his arm in one of her slender hands.

He turned, surprise written across his face and before he was able to ask, "What's the matter?" her lips brushed his softly. Cho pulled away slowly, lowering herself back to the ground. His face was absolutely blank.

"I-I'm sorry," she apologized quietly, blushing furiously and looking at the ground. "that was…" she trailed off, too embarrassed and ashamed to continue after her rash actions.

That broke Cedric from his vacant daze in an instant. A small smile crept its way across his lips and he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her full lips once more. "Never," he whispered, his lips barely a hair away from hers, "apologize for that." She blushed more, nodding shyly. The last call echoed across the grounds.

"I better go." Cedric said, pulling away from Cho and running a hand through his hair uneasily, his eyes glancing toward the final Triwizard Tournament challenge.

"I suppose so." Cho agreed, her voice faint. He turned back to look at her.

"Will you walk with me?" He asked, his voice giving away how truly terrified he was despite the calm and politely inquiring look upon his face.

"I-I can't." Cho answered. "I need to get my sweater from the tent." Cedric's expression fell slightly, but he covered his disappointment with an easy smile.

"Better hurry, then." He joked.

She gave him a small grin in return, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Cedric could see that her blatant fear was still present, but he knew that there was nothing more he could do to take it away besides simply to finish the challenge. "Good luck." She said. He dipped his head in agreement and turned around, walking toward the maze.

As his retreating form finally disappeared, Cho allowed another tear to fall to the dirt. "Please," she whispered her eyes frozen to the spot where he had stood, "come back to me after this." She drew a shaky breath to compose herself, making her way to the stands.

She didn't really need that sweater anyway, it wasn't that cold. But she couldn't bring herself to accompany him and have him trying to comfort her when he was the one in need of it. She sighed, her stomach churning with self-disgust, wishing she was as strong as he was.

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><p>Cedric was <em>so <em>close the cup that he could already see the proud expression on Cho's face when they announced him as the winner in front of him.

Harry Potter was hot on his heels, though, and they both reached it at the same time. They looked at each other, emerald meeting molten steel. Cedric let out a puff of air and looked at the messy haired boy beside him. His eyes flickered to the goblet and back to Harry. "You should take it." Cedric said finally, emitting a sigh of resignation.

"Why?" Harry asked, pushing his round glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Both of their faces were smeared with dirt and sweat, and they breathed hard.

"You deserve it. It's yours." He replied honestly.

Harry quirked a dark eyebrow. "What makes you say that? I deserve it as much as everyone else in this tournament." He steadied his breathing before continuing. "You got here first, anyway."

Cedric eyed the trophy in all its glory, from its golden handles on both sides to its polished base. He knew that Potter was stubborn, possibly nearly as stubborn, if not more so than he was, so he decided a mutually beneficial agreement was in order. "Okay, let's make a compromise."

"Sure," Harry acquiesced. "What've you got?"

"We'll both grab it at the same time, that way we both win and Hogwarts gets to claim victory over the other schools. Sound like a deal?" Cedric asked.

"Yeah." Harry agreed. They both focused on the cup. "On three." Cedric nodded his agreement. "One."

"Two." Cedric said. They both looked at each other, locking gazes for a moment before looking back at the Goblet of Fire.

"Three!" they cried in unison, thrusting their hands toward the twin handles and taking hold of the smooth, cold metal. All of a sudden, with a sharp tug at his navel, Cedric realized that they weren't in the maze anymore. He landed on his side with a soft _thud_, the cup falling somewhere to his left. He sat up, rubbing his head and shaking out the stray flecks of dirt from his hair and took in his surroundings.

It was foggy. That was the first thing that came to his immediate attention.

He could make out distinct shapes in the fog; squares and rectangles for the most part, but a few others, too, all protruding up from the ground. The ground was cold and hard beneath him, and he stood up, glancing about himself somewhat suspiciously, his right hand reaching for his wand. Harry came up from somewhere to his right and touched him lightly on his arm, causing Cedric to jump with fright and nearly poke one of his emerald eyes out with the aforementioned wand.

"Sorry, mate." Harry said apologetically, staring in surprise at the wooden object that had been thrust into his face before Cedric gave him a sheepish smile and lowered it. They looked at each other for another moment before they continued scanning their environment. "Where are we?" Harry asked, voicing the very question that Cedric was thinking aloud.

He took a few steps forward, his breath coming out in puffs of steam in front of his face. He shivered, just realizing how bitter the weather was there, before kneeling in front of one of the rectangles, barely making out words engraved into the smooth, gray stone. His eyes widened, realization dawning on him. "A graveyard?" He mumbled, blinking in shock.

Why would the cup take them there? It was supposed to port key them back to the maze entrance. Or maybe this was another part of the task…? Cedric shook his head. No, it was just _too _weird. Something strange and slightly terrifying was going on, and it stirred a fight or flight instinct deep within Cedric's body.

"Cedric," Harry muttered. Cedric turned to look at him and saw that his eyes were narrowed suspiciously. "it seems that we have company. Look." He pulled him quickly behind a tall tombstone, and they both watched with similar horrific expressions on their face as the scene before them played out.

A short hooded figure stood before an old towering marble headstone, holding something in their arms. The boys looked at each other, exchanging quizzical looks. _'A baby?' _Cedric mouthed, confused. Harry shrugged and they both turned back to the figure, who they realized too late was staring straight at them. For a second, Harry and Cedric and the person, whose face was obscured by the shadow of their hood, simply stared at one another. The rest happened too fast for any of them to comprehend what was going on.

Harry fell to the ground, his face contorted in pain and he clutched his forehead tightly, his wand lying fallen beside him. "Cedric," he moaned, his eyes clenched tightly shut, "get back...to the cup..."

Cedric was still so shocked that he couldn't move or utter a word, but all of his thoughts came to a startling halt when a high, cold voice spoke sharply from the direction that the figure stood. _"Kill the spare."_

His blood froze in his veins and his heart skipped a beat, his head snapping up to look at the hooded figure. He held his breath, though he had no idea why, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears. And with a swish of its robes and a flick of a wand followed by the words, _"Avada Kedavra!" _screeched into the night, his breath came out in a long, drawn out _whoosh_. All of a sudden, everything was in slow motion. It didn't even seem real, not really. It was all too vivid; Cedric knew it just _couldn't be real_...

The green light seemed to slowly inch its way toward him, as if it were allowing him a moment to compose himself. Cedric knew that he didn't have time to run. This was it. After all the hard work he had put into his future, carefully building up what he wanted to become, this was how it all ended up. Cho wouldn't one day be his bride and he wouldn't ever come home to a house filled with his beautiful family. Maybe that wasn't what he was meant for, anyway.

For some reason, he thought of his excitement when he had gotten his first broom. It had been his fourth birthday present. Memories flitted too quickly for him to distinguish the time gaps between them, pieces of the past that he had long since outgrown. There was the mini-lessons he used to have with his father over simple wandless charms between the ages of five to ten, back before he was old enough to have a wand of his own, and then the overwhelming feeling that overcame him when he found the perfect wand for himself at Ollivander's. His first glimpse of Hogwarts from the window of the Hogwarts Express came next, followed by his enthusiasm in his studies, enthralled by his magical heritage and everything having to do with Quidditch. The look of pride upon his mother's face when he unwrapped his prefect's badge.

The bright green jet of light coming towards him was so enthralling; so vivid and bright that he couldn't draw his eyes from it. It was nearly halfway there, now.

Cedric took the time to send Cho his deepest apologies. He couldn't sit with her and hold her and stroke her hair and tell her that 'everything's going to be alright' because in a matter of seconds, he would no longer be standing there, breathing in the frigid night air. Then he started to worry. Not about himself, but about how she would get along without him. This would take a while for her to get over, and even after she had, she might still think about him and shed a tear for him from time to time.

No, he thought, the memory of earlier tonight flowing back to him. He could see the tear of worry she had shed and his wiping it away once more. She shouldn't cry for him. She would be okay. He smiled at the thought. Yes, she'd be okay and she'd most definitely find someone else eventually. It was inevitable, even expected. He wanted nothing more than for her to be happy._  
><em>

But wait, he thought, a flash of selfishness flitting across his mind. He wasn't ready to go just yet! He hadn't seen his mother in months because she hadn't been able to get off from work to come see him for the Tournament, and he hadn't taken that major test in Transfiguration. He had studied so hard for that bloody thing!

Why? Why him? What had he done to deserve such a terrible fate? He was going to be murdered right there in the middle of the graveyard with only Harry Potter as a witness, and he wasn't even sure if _he_, the Boy Who Lived, would survive the night.

His thoughts from earlier came trickling back to him. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. Tomorrow, he decided, he would wake up, greet the day with a smile on his face - hell, he would even go up and hug Professor Snape and ask him to a romantic lunch at Madame Puddifoot's if that's what it took for him to show his gratefulness for life!

Cedric swallowed his vomit. Okay, maybe not that.

The point was, he wasn't ready yet, not when he was nearly seventeen and pretty much guaranteed the Head Boy position next -

The green light finally reached him, barreling into his chest at what was actually an unimaginable speed. Green light exploded across his vision, and he fell. Down, down, down he fell...

Cedric Diggory and his denial were dead before he even hit the ground.

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><p>Hermione Jean Granger was more than acquainted with death.<p>

It was all around her; she had witnessed more than her fair share of it. She knew that one day, everyone's time would come and all that. What was it that she had read about it in a very popular piece of modern muggle fiction? Oh, right. Living was merely a side effect of dying, so worrying about it was pointless.

Every second death loomed ever closer in her book, just waiting for a misstep or a miscalculation to snatch up yet another soul in its cold, dark clutches. True to form, it seemed to be on the winning team – whichever team that was – and had a great many new additions to its collection all the time. Despite knowing all of this however, she was still just as shocked as the rest of the school when one of her best friends, Harry Potter, staggered out the foggy maze with Cedric Diggory's limp form in his arms. All of a sudden, it didn't matter what everyone else in the stands were doing. Something was terribly wrong with how dreadfully still Diggory was.

She rushed down to where Harry stood, his hair more unkempt than usual and his clothes dirty, torn, and disheveled. The moment she arrived and he looked up at her with cloudy, diluted green eyes she knew. Her own brown eyes widened in shock, and she had to put a hand over her mouth to stifle a choked gasp. Harry's knees buckled beneath a mixture of the stress of Merlin-knows-what that went on in the maze and the weight of Cedric's body draped over his side and he released him. Hermione knelt beside her best friend and pulled him close to her, allowing him a moment to compose himself and to shield him from the rest of the world. "Oh, Harry…" she murmured into his unkempt hair, rubbing comforting circled into his back. "I am so sorry…"

After a little bit, Hermione finally allowed her gaze to travel to Cedric's face. He lay on his back, his deep gray orbs staring blankly into the cloudy night sky. Tears pricked at her eyes as she took in his completely neutral facial expression and she reached out a shaky hand to close his eyelids. If she hadn't known the truth, she would've thought him to be asleep. She buried her face in Harry's thick black hair and allowed a few tears to fall before taking a deep breath and pulling her head away. She needed to be at her strongest if she was going to be any help at all to Harry, because if she knew anything, she knew that this year would be a hard one. "I-it's a-all my fault, H-H-Hermione!" he whimpered softly. "This w-wouldn't h-h-have h-happened i-if-"

"Shhh…" Hermione said quietly. "There was nothing you could've done to change this. Nothing." Harry, too exhausted to argue any longer, nodded into her chest and went back to his silent sobbing. Hermione rested her cheek upon the top of his head and let a few more tears leak out, half of which were for the boy who would never see another day and the other for the boy who had the weight of the wizarding world upon his shoulders. And even though she knew that none of this was her fault, her heart was still breaking nonetheless as she attempted to take at least a bit of the burden her friend had been forced to carry practically since birth.

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><p>It had been exactly two years since that time. Nearly everyone at Hogwarts mourned for Cedric for a while (nearly everyone because, of course, the Slytherins couldn't give two knuts about him), but nothing lasts forever - another thing Hermione had learned from that muggle book she had read. Some infinities are smaller than other infinities. In the case of Cedric Diggory and his mourners, the infinity following his death lasted a matter of about a month.<p>

There were candlelight vigils held all over the campus for the first few weeks after his death, and many students attended them even if they hadn't really known him. That was how great of a person he was - nearly everyone felt the grief that came with his absence. He had been such a bright student, lighting up the days of others without even realizing it. Eventually, the only ones that continued to lament their woes were the Hufflepuffs, as it was their duty as his Hogwarts housemates, and Cho Chang and her friends.

Hermione took the death in a different way. She wasn't as completely distraught as Cho and Cedric's friends, but she still expressed her grief for his memory. Every night, her dreams were haunted with those daunting, lifeless gray eyes that were void of all the emotion that they used to hold and she would wake up every night after one of those nightmares and weep well into the early hours of the morning. She had only one encounter with him, and it was one that she held onto dearly if only to keep the image of the living being he had been fresh in her mind. She would replay it over and over during those nights to remind herself of what depths those empty eyes had once been capable of.

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><p>It had been one of <em>those<em> kinds of days.

Second Year Hermione Granger was at her wits' end, retreating to the library after a particularly dreadful morning. It had started off well enough. She had been coming down to the Great Hall with Harry at her side, chatting excitedly about what sort of creature that Hagrid would be showing them that afternoon during Care of Magical Creatures - because, by Merlin, Hermione had done her research and was determined to make sure that Harry understood the importance of making sure that a proper Silencing Charm was placed on a fwooper, because if a person listened to its song, they would be driven insane - when Ron joined them.

He hadn't meant to intrude, Hermione knew that much, but she just couldn't believe how quickly the conversation had taken such a pitiful downward spiral that ended with herself and Ron in an argument that led them to separating on bitter terms. She had been positively fuming, both mentally and physically when she had decided to go to her only sanctuary - the library - which was conveniently the one place he wouldn't dare follow her, to clear her head. Or at least, that was where she had intended to go.

On her way, she was unfortunate enough to run into Malfoy, also known as the biggest prat in the entire universe, and his two beefy cronies. They had been on their way to the Great Hall for breakfast, but the opportunity to harrass the buck-toothed mudblood had proven itself once again to be much too good for them to pass up. Malfoy knew how to push her buttons, that was for sure, and when they were finished with her they left a much angrier, bushy haired, watery-eyed Hermione Granger on the floor. All of her textbooks, library books, notes, and homework papers were scattered all abound the corridor, and her bum was giving her quite the smarting after they had pushed her down.

If they hadn't snatched her wand and tossed it down the corridor after stumbling across her, those three would have found themselves with a second head growing from their right ears, or worse.

She sniffled a few times and blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears of frustration that were forming in her eyes, but to no avail. Warm, salty tears rolled down her cheeks and soaked into her wrinkled robes as she struggled to pull herself together. She knew better than to let their taunts get under her skin, but it worked like a bloody charm every time they called her that accursed "m" word. She swallowed hard and had just gotten on her hands and knees to gather up her things when a boy began walking down the corridor.

His bright gray eyes landed on her within an instant, and she flushed a dark shade of scarlet from embarrassment at having been found in such a terrible predicament. The boy made his way over to her and knelt in front of her, gathering up a few of her books and pieces of parchment before looking up at her, a curious expression on his face. "How'd this happen?" he asked, handing her wand back to her, which she promptly pocketed gratefully.

"It doesn't really matter." Hermione mumbled, coming back from her shocked stupor and stacking a few more books together.

"Sure it does," The boy said, his brows furrowing. He placed the last book on top of the others and helped Hermione neatly pack her papers and assortment of inkwells and quills away into her bag before she clasped it shut once more. Hermione just didn't understand it. Why was this boy wasting his time talking to her instead of getting to breakfast?

"But…" she sniffed and wiped at her eyes, her dark lashes fluttering a few times as she tried again to dispel the tears, and to her relief, they finally evaporated from her sight. "you don't even know my name."

"Of course I do!"He exclaimed, his voice rich and almost music-like. "You're Hermione Granger, second year Griffindor."

"How'd you-?"

"You've made quite the reputation for yourself." Hermione held back a very unladylike snort at that, reminded yet again that her friendship with Harry Potter did not go unnoticed by her peers. "I can hardly believe that you haven't been put into any of my classes yet." The boy chuckled, his eyes shining.

"Oh." Hermione stood up and balanced all seven of her books in her arms, pleasantly surprised that he knew about her through her academic achievements rather than the heroic (and, admittedly, rather stupidly dangerous) adventures she had partaken in with her two best friends. After all, it wasn't every day that you heard about three First Years taking down a fully grown mountain troll, or coming face-to-face with a three-headed dog and living to tell the tale.

"Here," he said, reaching out for her books, "let me help you." Hermione nodded shyly and let him take a few from the top. Now she only had three. She looked down and scuffed her shoe with the tip of her other one. "Is something else wrong?"

"Well," she started, and then bit her bottom lip. She looked up and saw the boy taking her words in and waiting patiently for her to continue. "You've been unbelievably kind to me this morning and you know who I am, yet I've never met you before."

"Of course!" his smile broadened, revealing a few white, straight teeth. Hermione blushed ever so slightly upon noticing that this boy was fairly attractive with his big gray eyes, brown wavy hair that was spiked up slightly in the front, and friendly smile. His presence was refreshing. "Cedric Diggory, at your service. Hufflepuff. I'm a third year, you know." Hermione nodded, smiling slightly despite herself. Hufflepuffs were known for their nice, polite qualities.

"Thank you for all of your help," Hermione said earnestly, shifting the weight of the books a little bit in her arms. "And for giving me back my wand," she added as an afterthought, recalling her bitter frustration at the thought of having to track down where exactly it had fallen.

He merely smiled his warm, friendly smile, causing Hermione to stumble a bit. "Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders," he said, winking playfully at her.

Hermione laughed and they kept walking.

They reached the Great Hall doors in no time and stood outside for a minute. Cedric looked at Hermione around his stack of books. "How do you carry all of these, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I manage." He grinned and nodded thoughtfully.

"I always wondered." He said, as if answering an unspoken question. A beat of silence passed, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

"Thanks again." Hermione repeated, smiling.

His eyes brightened, amusement twinkling in them, and his brows rose almost to his hairline. "I would hardly call this helping, Miss Granger. If I'd have gotten to you earlier I could've really given you some help with…" he glanced at the tall double doors and back at her, his expression changing into a more serious one. "whoever it was."

"No, this was helpful enough, I promise. I have a feeling," the corners of her lips twitched, and she had to fight to keep them from creasing into a scowl, "that the stupid blonde-haired prat wouldn't be persuaded to leave his favorite means of entertainment any time soon."

His smile fell slightly, but he didn't push her to say anything more. Instead, he said, "How about I walk you to your table? I could show you this charm that'll shrink these books down to pocket-size, if you'd like." Hermione nodded enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up at the thought of learning some new information. He did exactly as he said, and acted the perfect gentleman the entire way.

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><p>Hermione never got the chance to talk to him again after that. He sort of disappeared, in his own way. He was still there, of course, but they were a year apart and in different houses, so the likelihood of something like that ever happening again was a slim one. Obviously Hermione's chances hadn't been too good. However, she was content with that one conversation; it was one more that she'd had with him than some students.<p>

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><p><em>Author's Note: <em>Oh, I love the changes! I feel a lot better about it now. I felt like the story was also a bit too sullen and serious all the time, so I tried adding a bit more humor to it. Not to worry, though - I never intended for it to be a comedy. But I do think that a little comedic relief every now and again isn't a terribly bad thing.

Please review and tell me your opinions on the changes (those of you who read the original)! And as for those of you who are new readers, I'd love hearing from you, too, of course. :)

I love each and every one of you, and because of that, I'm off to work on more chapters for you beautiful, wonderful people.

-Caitlyn


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer**: Am I J.K. Rowling yet? No...? Oh, okay. *hangs head miserably*

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

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><p>Hermione was nestled in her favorite little nook in the library, a forgotten little alcove that had been gathering dust until Hermione had stumbled across it on one of her countless escapees to the library in First Year. It was just beneath one of the many beautiful windows Hogwarts had to offer, with sunshine pouring through it on the especially nice days outside, quite unlike today. Grey, gloomy clouds loomed overhead in the sky, blocking the sun's warm, gentle rays of light to make way for the hostile winter winds that tore across the grounds.<p>

Her head was bent down over a large dusty tome with a threadbare spine, her usually unruly mess of frizzy, honey-colored curls twisted into a messy knot atop her head with her wand stuck through it for safekeeping, a few stubborn ringlets having fallen down here and there. The round face that had defined her childhood had finally slimmed down to more of an oval shape, with high cheekbones, a slightly pointed nose, and full, pale pink lips. Her eyelids were closed for a moment as she basked in the silence, her dark lashes fanning out beneath her eyes like palm leaves. Her slender fingers gingerly gripped the top edge of the page as she opened her eyelids to reveal deep brown eyes. She quickly fixated her gaze back to the page, picking back up from where she had left off, darting left and right with such quickness and ease that only one with as much experience reading as often as she would have.

She turned the page soon enough, careful to keep from tearing the paper, and continued on with the next. The book she was so engrossed in was one of the many, many history books that the library had to offer. Hermione breathed a deep sigh of contentment, relishing again in the sweet serenity of her surroundings and allowing herself to be fully captivated by the story. No one besides Harry and Ron knew about her secret haven, she thought, smiling slightly from the uncomfortable wooden library chair that she had transfigured into a large pale yellow beanbag, her legs bent beneath her, and they were currently in Hogsmeade to buy a few new additions for their practice Quidditch equipment._  
><em>

She couldn't resist rolling her eyes and chuckling. Wizarding boys and their Quidditch.

Her contentment was short-lived, however, when she heard the library doors bang open and slam closed. "Hermione!" a familiar feminine voice called. _Rather loudly_, Hermione added silently, an embarrassed blush rising in her cheeks as the librarian, Madam Pince, looked up from her paperwork at her and narrowed her eyes in annoyance. She lifted up her book to shield her face - as if her obnoxious friend would even _find _her - and slid down a little lower in her chair, silently praying to Merlin that she would give up and leave. "Hermione Jean Granger, I know you're in here somewhere, and I'm not leaving until you show yourself!"

Hermione groaned and slid a torn piece of parchment into the book for a makeshift place marker before setting it aside and standing. "Sorry, Madam Pince." She grumbled quietly as she passed by her desk. The birdlike woman shook her head and pursed her lips in a scolding manner before she returned to her work, her pointed beak-like nose buried in the parchment before her. Hermione made her way through the maze of bookshelves without even really putting much thought into where her feet were taking her since she had memorized the layout of the entire library after countless hours spent inside it, until she reached the entrance. "Do you want to get us both kicked out of here?" Hermione hissed, her earlier humiliation replaced by irritation, glaring at the tall, thin red-haired girl before her.

Ginny Weasley merely winked a bright blue eye at Hermione and smirked. "No, although it would certainly help you get more attention from the opposite sex. Another day, perhaps."

Hermione floundered about as she struggled to form a coherent sentence, her disbelief and vexation apparent, before finally managing to stutter, "Ginevra Weasley -"

"Oh, save it," Ginny said flippantly, tossing some of her hair over her shoulder. "You act as if the idea of having social interaction with boys is utterly inconceivable."

Before Hermione had the chance to bite out an indignant reply, Ginny laced her arm through Hermione's - which was made all the easier since her prudish friend had her hands firmly planted on her hips - and dragged her through the library doors and down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked suspiciously, her irritation ebbing away only to be replaced by skepticism, nearly tripping over her own feet trying to keep up with her friend. She had already tried tugging her arm free, but the strength Ginny had acquired from Quidditch made it impossible.

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know," the red-head replied teasingly, and Hermione emitted an exasperated sigh. Honestly.

Ginny released her arm once they were in an abandoned corridor and spun around, a small, neatly folded square of parchment held in her hand. "Do you know what this is?" The corners of her lips were beginning to tug upwards.

Hermione glanced from it to Ginny's face, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Should I?" Her friend's smile widened.

"What I'm holding in my hands, Hermione, just might be the solution to your boy problem." Hermione opened her mouth to object to such a ridiculous notion, but Ginny shushed her by quickly placing a single finger over her lips. "Hush and just listen."

"Fine," Hermione grumbled, batting her hand away in mild irritation. The cryptic way Gin was acting was starting to grate on her nerves. "What is it, then?"

Her grin broadened into a borderline-creepy imitation of the Cheshire cat. "Only the most wonderful, most _amazing_, absolutely and undeniably the-"

"If you don't bloody spit it out already, I'll be on my way and you can keep it all to yourself." Hermione threatened impatiently, knowing that Ginny knew she wasn't joking.

"Oh, al-_right_." Ginny said, a twinge of disappointment evident in her voice. Hermione gave a silent sigh of relief when the disturbing smile disappeared. "You don't have to be such a spoil-sport," She sniffed dramatically before finally, _slowly_ unfolding the paper. She glanced up at Hermione, her eyes twinkling impishly, "Prepare to be amazed." Hermione, unable to stand the wait any longer, snatched the parchment from her grasp as soon as it was unfolded and proceeded to read it aloud.

"'Dear Hermione,'" she began, then stopped herself and re-read it again. Yes, that was definitely her name. "What in the world?" she said softly to herself before looking at her friend. "Who wrote this, Gin?"

Ginny folded her arms across her chest and nodded to the letter, a secretive smirk sliding into place. "Just keep reading."

Hermione shook her head and continued to read the neat, slanted handwriting. She'd never seen that person's print in her life, so the letter would undoubtedly prove to be interesting. "'I saw you in the library today and it made me wonder where your male counterparts were. No one would ever believe me if I told them that you were alone, since the Golden Trio is always together. Eventually, I realize that the separation was inevitable. Everyone needs a little time to themselves, after all. Did you just grow tired of being constantly surrounded by people, or was it something else that drew you to the library? You picked a good day to go, regardless of your reasoning, since everyone is in Hogsmeade this afternoon.

"'Of course, I feel a bit hypocritical about the whole situation, as I myself am getting ready to head over there. Usually, on days like this when the weather is as horrible as it is, I prefer to remain here at the castle, but I suppose getting out and grabbing a butterbeer with my mates wouldn't hurt. Really, I don't honestly think they would notice one way or another if I wasn't there, but it's too late to change my mind now, and the winds have died down a fair amount for the time being. However, I do regret that I couldn't stop by and hold this conversation with you in person. Eventually, I would like to do that, and, knowing you, you probably won't forget. Let's make plans to do it sometime in the near future. Perhaps it can wait until another dreadful day like today, and we can skip the Hogsmeade trip together. Scott'." She heard a girlish giggle and turned to see Ginny looming right over her shoulder. "What?"

Ginny took a step back and squealed. _Squealed._ "Isn't it romantic?"

"Uh..." Hermione's eyes flickered from the letter to Ginny and back. "Not really. I mean, he said that he'd like to make plans to talk to me about my book and that he wishes he could have stayed at the castle instead of going to Hogsmeade. I don't see how you could possibly take that and make it into some sort of - of -" she searched for the right word for a moment, "_confession of love_." Hermione shook her head and folded up the letter. "Honestly, Ginny. He was just being friendly. You're delusional if you got even the slightest hint of romantic interest from that."

"He was being 'friendly'?" Ginny questioned incredulously, her red brows raising so high that they nearly disappeared into her hairline. "You're obviously the delusional one if you don't see the truth! It's all about _implications_ with boys, Hermione." she said matter-of-factly.

Hermione looked at her as if she had suddenly been transfigured into a blast-ended skrewt. "Implications? Are you bloody joking, Ginny?" She waved the letter in her face. "There is absolutely no trace of _implications_," she said the word in an imitation of her friend's voice, "anywhere in this." The brunette then took a moment to scan her surroundings, trying to figure out the quickest route to escape. If there was a way to rid herself of that bloody letter, that was a bonus. Her eyes gazed thoughtfully at a wall scone burning close by.

Ginny gave her a pointed look. "He clearly stated that he wanted to make plans to see you again and talking about a book that you were reading. That means that _he's_ interested in what _you're_ interested in, which, if you knew the first thing about the male species, you'd obviously take as a sign that he's interested in _you_."

Hermione was fully prepared to lunge at her friend and rip out every last strand of red hair from her pale head until she saw reason since clearly talking wasn't working, but she took a deep breath to calm herself down as a thought occurred to her. "Well, still I don't see the point in keeping the blasted thing or writing this 'Scott' person back because we have no idea who that even is."

She knew from Ginny's momentary silence that she had finally knocked some sense into her. "Bloody hell!" Ginny exclaimed, pacing in front of Hermione. "Of _course_ this'd happen. There's no bloody _last name_ on the letter…" the redhead grumbled a while longer, quiet enough that Hermione couldn't make out what she was saying, although she was fairly certain that she heard a few expletives here and there. Hermione simply watched, waiting patiently for her to give up. Ginny's feet came to a stop, her red hair swishing this way and that until it, too, was still. "I know who it is."

"Come again?" Hermione asked, surprised. Ginny turned on her heel and walked – _more like stalked, _Hermione added mentally, slightly perturbed – toward her friend quickly, a sparkle of excitement in her eyes that, to Hermione, appeared to be more like a gleam of madness. She was seriously beginning to consider admitting her friend to St. Mungo's.

"He's a Hufflepuff," Ginny said slowly, smiling and nodding in approval at her connection, "and his last name is Logan."

"Scott Logan?" Hermione said, nonplussed. She shook her head, her voice tainted by her doubt. "No way."

"Oh, but it couldn't be anyone else, see." Ginny motioned to the letter. "Scott's out getting Quidditch gear with his team today, which, as he so eloquently put it, is the duty of the captain. Plus, the weather really _is _quite dreary today."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What does this guy's observations about the weather have to do with anything? Anyone with any sense at all could look outside and see that the weather is awful."

"Would you stop being so cynical for one minute, Hermione!" Ginny snapped half-heartedly. Hermione's lips upturned slightly at the corners of their own accord. "The proof is all there for the Quidditch part, at any rate." She took the letter from Hermione's hand, her blue eyes skimming over it for what must have been the millionth time. "I wonder how long it took him to write this, anyway? Just look at how neatly this is written. He clearly took his time with it, all right. Oh, this is just _so-_"

"Ginny." Hermione interrupted, snatching the letter back. Her friend looked up at her, blue eyes wide in surprise. "This - this _thing_," she waved the letter in her friend's face, "is not proof of Scott Logan's feelings for me – which, might I add, are _non-existent_." She then paid careful attention to the parchment as she slowly folded it back up. "Besides, he's not really my type."

"Don't be daft!" Ginny joked, playfully smacking Hermione on the arm. "You don't know what you're talking about. He's blindingly attractive, friendly, and smart. What more could you possibly want?"

Hermione sighed in resignation, knowing that arguing about it by that point was useless. Ginny giggled and grabbed her arm, and they chatted all the way back to the entrance hall - Hermione quickly managed, by some miracle, to change the subject to something a little more suitable (coursework) because the conversation about Scott and the letter and his questionable motives (he really _was_ just being friendly, but Ginny wouldn't hear it) was giving her a headache - to wait for Harry and Ron to get back.

When the great entrance doors opened and let in a chilling wind, all Hermione wanted to do was crawl back to her warm sanctuary in the library. She shivered in her muggle jeans, loose-fitting T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Her teeth chattered as another bitter blast of wind tore through the entrance hall where she and Ginny stood which had Hermione feeling a little envious of her better-prepared friend, who wore a rather thick cloak over her attire, which consisted of an electric blue Twisted Sisters T-shirt and gray sweats. "Hey," Ginny said, leaning over towards her and wrapping half of her cloak around her. Hermione smiled gratefully at her and huddled underneath it with her. "I think I see them!"

"Harry and Ron?" Hermione asked, standing on her tip-toes to see over the sea of heads bursting through the doors, noses and cheeks painted a bright shade of red.

"Of course not!" Ginny chuckled, smiling and playfully pushing her friend. "Your lover-boy and his friends."

Hermione's watchful look soured and she rocked back her heels, grounding her teeth together in aggravation. "He is _not _my lover-boy, Ginny." She grumbled.

Ginny huffed. "Hermione, he sent you a letter. That's got to mean something to you."

"A lot of people send me letters, Gin." Hermione pointed out. "Just because Scott Logan, who just so happens to be a boy, sends me one doesn't mean he's in love with me. It was just a letter. It doesn't mean anything."

"Uh-huh. Sure it doesn't."

Hermione turned and glared at Ginny with as much fire in her eyes as she could muster, throwing the cloak off of herself. Damn the cold, she wasn't standing under there with Ginny anymore. "It really doesn't matter!" She shouted angrily.

"What doesn't matter?" a familiar voice said from behind her, startling Hermione. She turned quickly around to see the other two thirds of the Golden Trio walking up. Ron was rubbing his right cheek with a gloved hand, which was currently sporting a rather large red spot that stood out against his pale, freckle-spattered complexion.

"What happened to Ron's face?" Hermione asked, completely avoiding Harry's question.

Her green eyed friend had his eyes fixed upon her, narrowing them slightly and a smile tugging at his lips. "What doesn't matter?" He repeated, catching instantly onto her evasiveness.

Hermione huffed and placed her hands on her hips, trying to keep her blush from creeping all the way up her neck and blooming across her cheeks. "Nothing, Harry. Absolutely nothing!" she exclaimed, glowering at the patronizing devil, who was, with help from Ginny, peeling off his layers upon layers of jackets and other warm things. His luxurious-looking cloak came off first, followed by his red and gold scarf, and then it came to the task of taking off coats and jackets. He gave her a confused look before turning back to Ginny, who was was helping him tug his arms out of the sleeves of a sweater. Hermione left them to it and turned her attention back to the matter at hand. "What happened to your face, Ronald?"

His cobalt eyes, obviously multiple darker than his younger sister's, met hers and a slight blush settled into his cheeks from shame. "Snowball fight."

"Ronald!" Hermione scolded, recalling one particular episode when Harry and Ron had been engaged in an all-out war and their snowballs were mostly ice instead of actual snow. "You know how those can get!"

"Yes, well. It's all done now, isn't it?" Ron replied, shrugging. "No need to worry, though. I got him back for this."

"Who exactly is 'him'?" she asked curiously.

"Oh! That'd be Scott Logan and his mates." Ron smiled. "A right good group, they are."

"See, Hermione?" Ginny piped up from where she was helping Harry pull off his fourth and final sweater, "Even Ron thinks he's nice."

"You're not helping, Gin." Hermione groaned, mentally face palming.

"What's all this about?" Harry asked, his eyes shifting between the two girls curiously. He was holding onto his stack of warm clothes, his torso only clothed in a long-sleeved shirt, which had been the bottom-most layer.

"Yeah, what's going on? Did we miss something?" Ron inquired, one eyebrow quirked in suspicion.

"Noth-" Hermione began again.

"Scott Logan sent Hermione a romantic letter." Ginny cut in with a smirk.

Hermione could have strangled her.

"He _what_?" Ron and Harry asked at the same time.

"Oh, bugger _off_, you two." Ginny sighed dramatically. "Hermione is allowed to have some male attention from people besides you, you know."

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly.

"What did it say?" Harry pressed. Hermione's outburst had obviously gone ignored, and Ron was simply standing beside her quietly for once, all of his attention on his sister.

"Not much, actually." Ginny said thoughtfully. "Just that he saw her in the library today and wondered why she was all alone. Oh, and how he would very much appreciate a good shag -"

"He did no such thing!" Hermione cried indignantly, her face lighting on fire. The _nerve_ of that girl!

Beside her, Harry's brows twitched and she could have sworn she heard Ron mutter something about killing Logan later.

Ginny simply laughed. "Okay, he didn't say that he wanted to _shag _her, specifically, although I wouldn't doubt that it crossed his mind. Anyway, he mentioned that he wanted to set aside some time to speak with her privately. 'mione, d'you could you let me see the letter so I can -"

"I believe we've discussed my love life _quite enough_, don't you think, Ronald?" Hermione interrupted primly, turning and giving him a warning look.

"As much as I'd_ love_ to say no," Ron said, turning to his sister, smiling an extremely fake-sweet smile, "I'm not much of a gossiper myself. Wouldn't you say the same, Harry?"

"Uh…" Harry looked from Ginny's pleading face to Hermione's scowling one to Ron's bewildered look and ultimately chose to side with his best mate. "Yeah, I agree. Let's get some lunch."

Thank Merlin, Hermione thought. As far as she was concerned, Harry James Potter, for all intents and purposes, had survived the killing curse when he was an infant specifically so that he could save Hermione from this particularly mortifying conversation.

Hermione wasn't usually one to threaten anyone without any solid explanation, but Ginny Weasley had better start sleeping with one eye open.

"Hey, guys," Hermione said, "I'll have to catch up with you later."

"Where're you going?" Ginny asked as Hermione began walking away.

"The library," Hermione answered over her shoulder, quickening her pace.

_I've got a book to finish._

* * *

><p><em>Tap. Tap<em>.

Hermione looked up from where she was seated on her four-poster canopy bed in the sixth year girl's dormitory room working on her Potions homework at the window on the opposite wall. A small, tawny colored owl sat on the small length of windowsill outside holding a letter in its talons, the wintry breeze ruffling its fluffy feathers. Its wide, round gold-brown eyes were trained on Hermione, cocking its head to the side and tapping the window with its beak again. She laughed and set her homework and quill on her bedside table and walked over to the window. "There you go." she murmured, opening the window.

The owl hooted its thanks and fluttered in through the small opening, dropping a small envelope into Hermione's lap. Hermione shivered as the cold air invaded the warmth of the dormitory and quickly latched the window, turning her attention to the owl. It shook out its feathers, shaking a few flakes of frost onto the sill. Hermione reached out and stroked its soft, smooth head, and it closed its eyes and cooed softly to show its pleasure. Hermione set the letter beside her and went over to her bedside table to retrieve a few owl treats from the drawer. The bird flapped over and accepted them graciously. It perched itself on Hermione's shoulder. "What is it?" Hermione asked thoughtfully, reaching up and running her fingers from the owl's head down to its tail.

It cocked its head toward the unopened letter still sitting on the windowsill as if to say, "Why don't you open it and see what's inside for yourself?"

"Oh, alright." Hermione laughed, walking over and picking it up. She returned to her comfortable bed and settled into her red sheets and bedspread. A look of surprise settled over her features as she looked at the slanted cursive writing across the envelope, addressed to herself. The owl rubbed its tawny head against Hermione's arm as she peeled the envelope flap up. She pulled the parchment out of the envelope and unfolded it.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Hello again! __Ever since I sent that letter to you a few weeks ago, I've been wondering why I haven't received a single word back from you. Relieving me of this rather girlish fretting would be delightful. Maybe I should explain myself before you make any assumptions. I had been hoping to hear from you by now, you see. One who doesn't hear even a whisper from a girl after sending her a letter—two letters, now—has right to be at least slightly...what's the word? Nervous, I suppose. Eventually, I sincerely hope you'll find the time to write me back._

_—Scott_

Hermione smiled and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, envelope, and took her quill from where it had been laying atop her Potions homework. She _tsk_ed at herself as she looked at that, as she had been hoping to finish it tonight so that she would be able to turn it in a week early. Oh well.

She dipped the end of the long, slender gray and black feather into the inkwell and pressed it to the paper, slowly writing out her reply. She blew on the black ink after she had finally finished to make sure that it would be dry enough to put into the envelope without smudging it before re-reading it once more.

_Dear Scott,_

_I appreciate the time you took to write me those letters. They were quite a delight for me to read. Of course, my friend Ginny got a hold of that first one before me—don't ask me how, because I wouldn't be able to tell you anything but the fact that Ginevra Weasley has her ways—but I promise you that it won't be happening again._

_By the way, what prompted you to write to me in the first place? I am terribly sorry if I come across as rather crass, but I don't recall speaking with you prior to this. Regardless of your reasoning, I'd just like to thank you. It has been a pleasure reading your correspondences. _

_Here is your reply, Mr. Logan! I hope it quells your disappointment._

_—Hermione_

She nodded to herself and began to fold it to put into the envelope when a sudden thought occurred to her. Dipping her quill back into the ink, she wrote out a postscript. "'P.S.'," Hermione read aloud, petting the small owl's head beside her. "'Is this your owl? It's very pretty. May I ask what its name is?'" She looked at the owl. "What do you think?" The owl blinked its big, striking eyes, as if in agreement. Hermione smiled and put the letter into the envelope, carefully addressing it to Scott after it was sealed and laying her quill back on top of her unfinished essay. "There you go!" Hermione said, tying it to the owl's foot.

She walked over to the window and let the bird out, watching it fly off into the night after she had shut and locked it back. Her gaze followed it until it had flown out of her range of view, no doubt going somewhere else in the castle to find Scott. Hermione sighed, turning away from the window and making her way back onto her bed. She fell back onto the comforter with her arms outstretched and stared at the ceiling. "Why me?" she asked softly. "Why would Scott chose to owl _me_, of all people?" she rolled over onto her stomach, grabbing one of her plump pillows and clutching it closely to her chest.

_Don't act like you don't like it,_ her conscience said in a slightly sing-song voice.

Hermione glared at a loose piece of thread on the red fabric and began picking at it. "You wouldn't know, now would you?"

_I _do _know, actually. It's part of being, well, you._

Hermione chuckled dryly. "Very funny." She finally managed to pull out the short, thin string and started tying knots absentmindedly with it. "I just…I'm confused, is all."

_About what? Why must you always over-analyze everything?_

"Over-analyze?" Hermione questioned herself in disbelief. "I do _not _overanalyze things. It seems a bit fishy to me that a boy who's never taken notice to me before all of a sudden wants to know so much about me and -" Hermione cut herself off, shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm talking to myself." She threw the pillow back to the head of the bed and jumped off, shivering when her bare feet touched the frigidly cold hardwood floor. Goosebumps appeared all over her arms and legs, and she rubbed the tops of her arms to warm them as she reached for her robe hanging off of one of the wooden beams toward the end of the bed and took her essay downstairs.

She made her way down to the common room, which was surprisingly close to empty – surprising due to the fact that it was seven o'clock on a Thursday night. She plopped down on the couch with her Potions book and paper in hand, placing the book on her lap and flipping it open to the right page. The only other people in the Gryffindor common room at the moment were a group of about five or six students gathered around a rather intense round of wizard chess between two seventh year boys.

Usually during the rare times like these when everything was quiet for a change, she would be able to get her work done extremely quickly, but today was different. She was having trouble focusing on her work. Her mind was constantly being bombarded by thoughts of the letters and Scott and the mystery of it all and –

Okay, so maybe there was a _minuscule _chance that she was slightly flattered by the whole ordeal.

Hermione immediately blushed, embarrassed that she'd even think that. She looked quickly over her shoulder to make sure that the small group hadn't noticed her mental lapse of insanity. Thankfully they hadn't, far too involved in their game to notice much of anything. Actually, with their heads as closely grouped together as they were as well as the tones they were using as they talked amongst themselves, Hermione assumed that they were participating in some sort of debate or argument. She turned back around in her chair and stared into the fire burning in the fireplace.

The flames licked at the logs hungrily, its bright orange head stretching further and further upward, crackling merrily.

She was most certainly not flattered. What reason had she to be flattered, anyway? Scott was writing her letters - granted, no boy had taken such a sudden interest in her, nor had they chosen to _pursue_ that interest given the fact that she was _Hermione Granger_, Bookworm-Extraordinaire-Hermione-Granger, Queen-of-Killjoys-Hermione-Granger, Too-Logical-For-Her-Own-Good-Hermione-Granger - and that was that.

Except, in some small, utterly illogical part of her brain - which truly _was_ rather small, since her brain was the prime example of logical thought processes - that she forced herself to ignore, Hermione wished it wasn't.

Which was exactly why she made it her personal mission to puzzle everything out for herself, because if there was one thing Hermione was most definitely good at besides spell-casting, potion-making, reading, and, generally, being an insufferable know-it-all (because, yes, she could admit to herself that she was), it was solving mysteries.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer**: I checked my birth certificate, and I am still, sadly, not J.K. Rowling. I own nothing besides the plot of this fic and a few characters. Oh, and while I'm doing a disclaimer, I might as well throw in here that Scott Logan is not my character. He is an OC that the beautiful sissou brought into the world for her story _Lover's Return Spell _(it is a brilliant Cedmione fic that not only made me ship them with my whole soul but also inspired me to write my own). I thought he was canon, but when I did some research, it turned out that I had unknowingly borrowed him. So now that I've cleared that up, I can finally sleep at night without fearing that someone will realize the connection and claim that I am a thief. Because, clearly, I am not.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

* * *

><p>The next morning in the Great Hall, everything was crazy. Students were a bubble of excited chatter about the fact that a Quidditch game would take place that Saturday. The teams? Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff.<p>

Here it was, Harry Potter, captain of one of the most well put together Gryffindor teams that Hogwarts had seen in a while versus Scott Logan's equally talented team. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt. She felt that she _should _sit on the Hufflepuff side since Logan had gone so out of his way to owl her – _twice_, might she add – but she had to support her friends and her house.

She leaned forward, reaching for the pumpkin juice. Just a little further and she'd have it...

Hermione's arm was directly in front of Ron, who was on her left. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye to see him staring at her blankly, his mind apparently far away from the chit-chatting of young wizards and witches alike as they ate their breakfast. His jaw had stopped moving mid-chew. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Something the matter?"

He choked on his bite of toast and cleared his throat. "N-no." he replied, resuming whole-heartedly to his daily act of face-stuffing. Hermione could've sworn that the tips of his ears were red, but before she could get a better look to make sure she wasn't crazy, her hand found the handle to the jug of pumpkin juice. She did a silent cheer and pulled it to herself, ignoring the blatant fact that she could have just as easily used a levitating charm and saved herself half the trouble. No matter, the muggle way was, after all, what she had grown up with.

Hermione had busied herself with pouring the light orange liquid into her goblet to keep her mind off of that slightly uncomfortable moment with Ron when owls came swooping into the Great Hall from the windows to deliver the morning post. They carried letters and packages alike to the students that the said items were addressed to, as usual. Hermione continued eating without looking up, since her parents weren't particularly fond of using an owl to send mail unless she had written them first or was about something extremely important, so she didn't expect anything out of the ordinary to happen.

Until, that is, a familiar small, tawny owl fluttered towards her and landed in front of her plate. Its eyes flickered over her curiously as it stuck its leg out to her, and she took the letter and handed it a piece of her muffin. "It's nice to see you again, too." Hermione smiled, watching as it pecked the remaining golden crumbs from off the tabletop before turning her attention back to the envelope in her hand. Her name was written across it in that same neat, slanted cursive script as the previous letters. "Let's see here…" Hermione tore open the envelope and immediately began reading.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Maybe there really was a point to all of that waiting! Everything's been going well since my last letter. Every day has been going by along the same lines – wake up, go to classes, go to Quidditch practice whenever it's scheduled, and then go to bed. This letter-writing thing to you has been a great experience for me. Makes my everyday routine a little different, which is nice._

_Everyone sure is excited about that Quidditch match, huh? Surely I'll see you there, since all of your Gryffindor mates are on the team and all. One day, I promise you that I'll personally see to it that you sit on Hufflepuff's side during one of them! Oh, can you imagine the talk that would happen after people saw you? No one, not one person, will see it coming!_

_Till next time,_

_Scott_

_P.S._

_I almost forgot to tell you something. Can you believe that? Anyway, my owl's name is Heather. No one's been able to get her to warm up to them in a long time. Two years, to be precise. With good reason, of course. At first, I debated not telling this to anyone but recently I changed my mind. I trust you. Talking about it with someone is so relieving. The reason Heather finds it hard to trust people nowadays is because she used to belong to someone else. One of my old friends, in fact. Since it wasn't that long ago, perhaps you knew him? Everyone, it seemed, knew him. Even people who didn't really __know__ him knew of him. You know who I'm talking about, right? Oh Merlin, I'm rambling. Unbelievable...setting that bit aside (I do apologize, but my thoughts are everywhere at the moment, it seems), he used to be one of my best friends._

_Cedric Diggory._

Hermione's heart flew up to her throat. Her eyes widened as she looked from the name written at the bottom of the letter to the owl and back. She hadn't heard that name in _such _a long time. Ever since…

She didn't even want to think about it. The nightmares had finally gone away after about nine months from that time at the Triwizard Tournament and now wasn't the time to -

But those _eyes_…the very windows to his soul…

They had been so utterly blank and inexpressive.

Hermione felt her cheeks get hot and tears forming in her eyes. Cedric wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want her to cry.

She folded up the paper and reached out to pet the owl's soft feathers. "You haven't been able to trust anyone in a while, huh?" she asked Heather quietly. She stared at Hermione with her wide, innocent eyes as Hermione's hand trailed down her back. Her eyes seemed a little sadder than they had a moment ago, and Hermione's heart clenched pitufully. "It's okay, Heather. I understand what you're going through." Hermione whispered. She wasn't even sure if the bird understood, but she felt as though she needed to say it.

But the thing was, she _didn't_ understand. Not really. Heather had lost her master, the one person who, day in and day out, had taken care of her. How could she say that she understood what Heather had gone through when she herself had never had an experience like that? Hermione tucked the letter back into its envelope and put it in her bag.

"I have to go." Hermione murmured to Ron, who turned around to look at her as she stood up. He had white-brown specks of biscuit around his mouth and on his lips, along with traces of yellow spots of butter.

"Where are you going?" He asked through his mouthful of food, a few crumbs falling out of his mouth. He swallowed and took a drink of his apple juice before turning his attention back to her.

"I don't want to be late for class." Hermione lied. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her precarious pile of ever-present books teetering slightly.

He glanced at the clock. "There's half an hour before class starts. And you hate Divination." He deadpanned, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"People can change their minds!" Hermione defended herself quickly. But based on his doubtful look, she knew he still didn't believe her.

"Ron," Harry cut in just as his friend was about to open his mouth again to speak, "just let her go." Ron turned around to face Harry in a flash. Harry stared him down with his piercing green eyes, almost daring him to argue. Hermione suddenly wished that she could see his face to understand all of the emotions flickering on and off of Harry's face and in his eyes. Ron sighed, breaking their gaze, and picked up his fork again. Harry shook his head slightly and returned to his own plate after saying a cheerful, "See you in class!"

"See you, Harry!" Hermione replied, turning around and walking. She really didn't want to go to the Divination classroom and have to sit in there with Professor Trelawney, but it didn't look like she had much else to do since there wasn't enough time to make a quick trip to the library and then run to the Divination tower on the opposite side of the castle. So, carefully picking her footing, she ascended up the stairs to the tower where her class was held every day. Before she knew it, she was in front of the door. Taking a deep breath, she reached out and turned the knob slowly.

"Hello," Professor Trelawney said airily from her desk when the door was opened. "and allow me to welcome you to my class." She looked up from her – _fake_ – crystal ball and squinted her eyes at Hermione through her oversized, round glasses. "Hermione Granger, why have you arrived so early? I had been expecting you much later…"

Hermione rolled her eyes and set her things down on a nearby desk. "Did you see that in your crystal ball?" she muttered sarcastically.

"Why, yes. Yes, I did." Trelawney said dubiously. She made a motion with one of her hands for Hermione to come over, the bangles and other assorted bracelets on her hand tinkling together. "Come, child. See what the future has in store for you."

If Hermione hadn't made showing respect to her professors such a high priority, she would have snorted in a rather unladylike manner. "Professor, I _really_ don't think-"

"That's right, dear. Don't think, just do." She interrupted, her ice blue eyes, which were magnified behind her massive lenses, turning back to the clear glass sphere in front of her. "Sit here for a moment." Hermione rolled her eyes for a moment and walked over to where Professor Trelawney sat and lowered herself into the wooden chair beside her own. "I must take these back to my desk…" Professor murmured, picking up a glass teapot and teacup from the small table beside the one the crystal ball was situated on. She looked at Hermione. "I'll be right back, and together we shall see what is soon to come."

Hermione stood up at the same time as Professor Trelawney, willing to take the first chance she could get to blow off a 'future-seeing' opportunity. "Here," she said, reaching for the chipped cup and short, squatty porcelain teapot, "allow me -" her hand touched her teacher's and a bolt of painful electricity shot through her fingers. She jumped back instantly, holding her scalded, bright red fingertips over her racing heartbeat. The glass objects fell to the ground, tea splattering all over the stone floor and splashing onto Trelawney's colorful multi-patterned skirt. Hermione was transfixed to where she stood as her professor turned to look at her with a strange expression on her face.

"_The letters_…" she croaked. Something about her was off. She was acting much stranger than usual all of a sudden, and it sent chills up Hermione's spine.

"What letters, Professor?" Hermione asked cautiously, taking a small step back.

"_The letters!" _Trelawney screeched, her eyes widening and her face beginning to turn red. Her voice was high-pitched and raspy. Hermione was so shocked that she couldn't bring herself to utter a single word. _"Though seemingly sent by one, it is written by another. Through disguise and careful wording, a plea is made clear. Read it once and you'll miss it, twice you won't see. Look to the start of every stop and find the hidden meaning. String it together and there you'll find the answer to your riddle." _Her voice rose a few octaves higher as she finished. _"FIND THE ANSWER!" _She fell to her knees and Hermione rushed forward to catch her head before her head smashed into the hard stone flooring.

"Professor, what do you mean, 'find the answer'? The answer to what?" Hermione asked urgently.

"_The riddle..._" she gasped, reaching out and grabbing firm fistfuls of the front of Hermione's black school robes. Her skin was as pale as a sheet, and with her eyes as wide as they were, passerby might have been convinced that she'd seen You-Know-Who in the flesh.

"What riddle?" Hermione urged her. "I don't understand."

"_The_..." Professor Trelawney took a quivering breath. "_start of every stop_..." Her eyes grew even wider - Hermione hadn't thought that was even possible - as she worked her dry, colorless lips to try to force something else out. But then her eyelids drooped closed and her mouth grew slack.

Hermione, unsure of what else to do, levitated her straight to the Hospital Wing for diagnosis.

Divination was cancelled until further notice.

* * *

><p>"So, explain to me again what happened?" Harry asked Hermione as they walked across the grounds toward the pitch.<p>

"I already _told _you," Hermione replied for the umpteenth time, "there's really not much to tell." She really wished that he would stop badgering her about what happened to their hospitalized teacher. It was something that she wasn't ready to talk about yet.

"Of course." He said sarcastically. "Divination professors drop cold to the floor and lay unconsciously in Hospital Wings – for, how long has it been, exactly? A full school week? – all the time." Harry looked at her seriously. "'Mione, you know you can tell me anything."

Hermione hesitated. She _did_ know that, it was just... She didn't want to talk about it right then. "I know that, Harry. Maybe later." She looked straight ahead, and the whole time she thought to herself, _Liar, liar, liar_.

"Okay." Harry said doubtfully. All the same, he dropped the subject and they finished their walk in silence. He looked at her before going to meet with his team. "I'll see you after the match, then?"

"Yes, you will." Hermione confirmed, giving him a small, warm smile. He returned it and turned around, broomstick in hand. "Good luck!" she called out to his retreating form. Her smile widened as she decided to add, "You'd better beat those Hufflepuffs!"

"Thanks, and we'll do our best!" He yelled back, looking at her over his shoulder, chuckling and sending her a wave.

"Tell the same to Ron for me, will you?" Hermione called. Ron had set out a few hours before, explaining simply that he wanted to get some practice in before the big game.

"I will!" Hermione turned on her heels after he had disappeared into the changing room to switch from his billowing robes and into his Quidditch uniform, her thoughts conflicted. She was happy that everything with Harry got smoothed out before any big issues came up, but his questioning brought her mind back to square one. In fact, she felt even more confused than before, if it was possible.

Trelawney's words came back to her.

The_ start of every stop… Find the answer to the riddle…_

Hermione shook her head. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about her nutty professor's prophecy. Which, by the way, Hermione wasn't absolutely convinced was even real. It didn't even make any sense!

She sat down beside Neville Longbottom and Ginny – who were currently conversing about who-knows-what, since Hermione wasn't in her best state of mind to be doing any eavesdropping at the moment – on one of the long benches on the Gryffindor side, trying to make sense of her inner turmoil.

* * *

><p>The match was over, and after a tug-of-war sort of duel between the two teams over who would get the win, it seemed that luck was on Hufflepuff's side in this one; their seeker had been <em>just <em>faster than Gryffindor's to getting the golden snitch. Hermione knew, along with probably a significant amount of others, that if Harry still played that position, Gryffindor would've won hands-down, but there were no hard feelings after such an evenly-matched pair of opponents. In fact, the teams even gave each other hi-fives and Scott and Harry, as a sign of respect for their fellow captain, shook hands.

Hermione walked out of the stands and waited for Ron and Harry to emerge from the changing room. Students were hustling out of the bleachers toward the castle, making it nearly impossible to distinguish everyone's faces, when the sea began to part. Hermione sighed gratefully, walking up to talk to her two best guy friends to tell them that, no matter the score, she was still proud of both of them when she realized that it was the Hufflepuff team.

Her eyes scanned the players, her brain making mental notes on each one as she identified them until they landed on a specific member. Scott was standing closer to the outside of the group of students, dressed in black slacks, a button-down, long sleeved white collared shirt with the top two or three buttons undone that was untucked on one side, and his yellow and black tie – the Hufflepuff house colors – loose and hanging to the side, with his dark robes slung over one shoulder. He was smiling and laughing and giving out hi-fives to a few of his housemates.

In a complete split-second decision, Hermione resolved at that moment that Ron and Harry could wait because she needed to sort out more pressing matters first. She took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to follow through with the half-baked plan that was already formulating in her mind (which was very un-Hermioneish of her, as she never went along with a plan unless each detail was meticulously drawn out and each move was strategically placed after a good deal of inductive reasoning). "Hey, Scott!" she said as she jogged up to them.

He looked at Hermione questioningly but turned to his friends. "I'll catch up with you." He said to them with a crooked smile still on his face, patting one of the guys on the back before he walked up to her. His brown eyes took her in curiously and he ran a hand through his cropped light brown hair. "Yes?"

"Scott – hi." Hermione said, smiling._  
><em>

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! _Hermione wanted to bash her own head in. She sounded like the single most awkward person on the planet.

"Uh…hi?"

Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I just, erm, wanted to thank you for those letters you sent me."

His eyebrows shot up. "Letters? What letters?"

Hermione stared at him unblinkingly for a moment, speechless. He honestly looked like he had no idea what she was talking about. She blushed and reached into her bag to pull out the two most recent ones in their respective envelopes. "Um, these?" She handed them to him. "Ring a bell?"

"I didn't send these." Scott said slowly, his eyes carefully taking in the script. He looked up at Hermione. "It's not even my handwriting." He seemed to hesitate for a moment before adding quietly, "I haven't seen that handwriting in a while…" his voice was so low that Hermione couldn't tell if he was talking to her or himself.

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, now completely discombobulated._  
><em>

"Oh – it's nothing." He shook his head and thrust the letters back into Hermione hands. "Sorry I couldn't help you." He waved briefly at her before turning around and walking away to catch up with his friends.

Hermione stood there for a moment, as if in a daze. "No," she murmured, looking down at the letters in her hands, "you've helped me a lot more than anyone else has." She traced her fingers over the dried ink, lost in thought. If Scott didn't really send them, then who did?

Another part of Trelawney's revelation came to her. _Though seemingly sent by one, it is written by another._

She stared at the cursive writing, trying to piece it together. "'Through disguise and careful wording, a plea is made clear'." She recited quietly.

What was that supposed to mean?They were simple letters from someone at this school, using Scott's name as an alias. Anyone else would probably just use their own name, so it must have been another guy named Scott.

"Hermione!" she was snapped back into reality at once, hastily stuffing the letters back into her bag. She turned around just in time to see Ron and Harry weaving around the last of the students. "There you are," Ron breathed.

"We've been looking for you everywhere!" Harry chimed in.

Hermione gave them an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I got a little bit caught up in something."

"It's okay." Harry said. Ron nodded his agreement and opened his mouth to say something when Ginny ran up to them.

"Oi!" she exclaimed. "It seems that you've forgotten something, you lot!"

"Sorry, Gin." Hermione said with a laugh, looking over at her. All had been forgiven on Hermione's part about the letter, since Ginny, in her own way, was just trying to play matchmaker in an attempt - albeit a miserable one, but an attempt nonetheless - at making Hermione happy.

"Don't worry about it," She replied, falling in step with the others.

"Harry, did you _see_ that dive near the end?" Ron inquired, leaning forward so that he could see their dark-haired friend around Hermione and Ginny.

"Yeah, mate! That was quite a save." Harry praised him. The boys launched into a Quidditch discussion about the game, Ginny throwing in some comments here and there, so it let Hermione have a chance to think.

The prophecy was actually starting to sound authentic. The first part had been true: they were sent by someone who was definitely_ not_ Scott Logan.

But then, Hermione wondered, what about the 'plea in disguise' part? It didn't really seem like something was wrong when whoever it was wrote the went over the whole prophecy again, trying to decipher the meaning behind each line.

_Though seemingly sent by one, it is written by another;  
>through disguise and careful wording a plea is made clear.<br>Read it once and you'll miss it, twice you won't see.  
>Look to the start of every stop and find the hidden meaning.<br>String it together and there you'll find the answer to your riddle._

The 'start of every stop'? Hermione thought about all of the letters. What could be considered 'the start of every stop' when it comes to letters?A sudden thought occurred to her, and her feet came to a halt.

It all made sense! There was no other explanation. The start of every stop just _had _to be -

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Ginny pulled Hermione once again from her thoughts. Hermione mentally groaned. she had been _so _close to understanding that riddle…

She looked up and met her friend's concerned blue eyes. "What?" she blinked, looking around. She had been mulling over that riddle a lot longer than she thought, she realized, because she hadn't even noticed that she'd already gotten inside the Entrance Hall. Harry and Ron stood a little way away, their conversation dying down as they stopped, too. They both turned around to look at her.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking between the three of them. "Did I miss something?"

Ginny's eyes sparkled at a sudden thought and she turned to the boys. "You two go on. I can handle this." They shrugged and continued on to the common room, picking up on their previous topic of some kind of shield charm. Ginny turned and looked at Hermione, her eyes narrowing. "Look, Hermione. You might be able to get past those boys with how distant you've been acting all week, but you can't with me. Ever since that episode with Trelawney, you've been very quiet. Care to explain why?"

Hermione opened her mouth, fully prepared to spout off some ridiculous lie that she'd strung together on the spot when she remembered what a terrible liar she was. She sighed and decided with sticking to the truth. "I went to Divination early and something strange happened. All of a sudden, Professor Trelawney was talking in this strange voice and then she collapsed." It was a half-truth, which didn't necessarily count as a lie if you squinted your eyes and turned your head a certain way. Besides, Ginny wouldn't notice if she left out a few minor details._  
><em>

"What did she say?" Okay, so maybe she would._  
><em>

"Some kind of prophecy, I think." Hermione mused. Upon seeing the concerned look on Ginny's face, Hermione found herself scrambling for an excuse to cover up the fact that she, herself, was beginning to believe it. "But there's no way that it could be true, anyways. After all, she _is _the same person who tells Harry nearly every day in class another horrible way he'll die. The possibilities of it being true are slim to none."

"You're absolutely right." she giggled, linking her elbow with Hermione's. "How dim does she think you are? You're Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of Our Age!" Hermione nodded, forcing out an uncomfortable laugh.

"Yeah…" she agreed, her voice trembling with a slightly nervous edge to it. Ginny, who had obviously not picked up on Hermione's reluctance – _thank Merlin_ – continued to bash and rant on about the Divination teacher all the way to Gryffindor Tower. They reached the Fat Lady painting and Hermione mumbled the password, nodding absently at whatever her friend was saying as she climbed through the portrait hole.

"And those _stupid _teacups!" Ginny exploded, her face starting to turn a little red. "I absolutely _hate _having to make predictions using those blasted things. Don't you, Hermione?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded fervently, her mass of curls flying all about her face. "Who wouldn't?" As she brushed away a few locks that had gotten in her face, she wondered if, perhaps, she had been a little enthusiastic with her nodding.

Ginny raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest, smirking slightly. "You weren't even listening, were you?"

"Well…" Hermione trailed off.

"There's no use in lying about it. Your bloody terrible at it." Ginny reminded her as they walked up the stairs to the girls' dorms.

"Actually, in that case, no," she admitted shamefully, guilt settling in her stomach for having done practically nothing _but _lie ever since the Trelawney incident.

Ginny let out a laugh. "Goodnight, Hermione," she said as she walked in the direction of the fifth year dormitory.

Hermione let it go. Everyone lied every once in a while, so she decided to use her Get Out of Jail Free card just this once. Besides, they were just impossibly small, meaningless ones, anyway.

"Goodnight, Ginerva." Hermione said sweetly, laughing as she saw Ginny stiffen slightly at the use of her given name.

"Don't call me that!" She snapped, though her voice was light and playful.

"See you at breakfast." They said one last goodnight before finally heading to their respective dorm rooms. As soon as Hermione got to her bunk, she pulled out all of the letters and spread them out over the bedspread.

She took a fresh piece of parchment and dipped a spare quill she had lying in her dresser drawer into an inkwell and began to write out the prophecy. Once that was finished, she started making notes about the lines. If she wanted to figure out the riddle, she would have to be very thorough. She started with writing what she had already figured out.

_Though seemingly sent by one, it is written by another.  
>Through disguise and careful wording a plea is made clear.<br>Read it once and you'll miss it, twice you won't see.  
>Look to the start of every stop and find the hidden meaning.<br>String it together and there you'll find the answer to your riddle._

She started writing out her ideas on the bottom of the page, just below where she had already written.

_'Though seemingly sent by one, it is written by another' – meaning that the object in mind, in this case the letters, were signed by one person but sent by someone else in actuality._

_'through disguise and careful wording a plea is made clear.' – some kind of message, perhaps, is hidden among the text…?_

_'Read it once and you'll miss it, twice you won't see' – obviously refers to the 'hidden message' from the previous line, meaning that it takes a careful eye to find it._

_'Look to the start of every stop and find the hidden meaning.' – the start of every stop must refer to_

Hermione's quill stopped writing mid-sentence. She looked at the letters, at the prophecy, and back to the letters. "'the start of every stop'," Hermione murmured, voicing her earlier conclusion at last, "must mean…" She turned the parchment that she had been writing on over and re-read the first letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I saw you in the library today and it made me wonder where your male counterparts were. No one would ever believe me if I told them that you were alone, since the Golden Trio is always together. Eventually, I realize that the separation was inevitable. Everyone needs a little time to themselves, after all. Did you just grow tired of being constantly surrounded by people, or was it something else that drew you to the library? You picked a good day to go, regardless of your reasoning, since everyone is in Hogsmeade this afternoon._

_Of course, I feel a bit hypocritical about the whole situation, as I myself am getting ready to head over there. Usually, on days like this when the weather is as horrible as it is, I prefer to remain here at the castle, but I suppose getting out and grabbing a butterbeer with my mates wouldn't hurt. Really, I don't honestly think they would notice one way or another if I wasn't there, but it's too late to change my mind now, and the winds have died down a fair amount for the time being. However, I do regret that I couldn't stop by and hold this conversation with you in person. Eventually, I would like to do that, and, knowing you, you probably won't forget. Let's make plans to do it sometime in the near future. Perhaps it can wait until another dreadful day like today, and we can skip the Hogsmeade trip together._

_—Scott_

Slowly, she began to write the first letter of every sentence onto the parchment, starting with 'Dear Hermione' at the top, since it was at the beginning of each letter. She knew she was on the right track once she read what she copied down and hurriedly looked over the second one next.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Hello again! __Ever since I sent that letter to you a few weeks ago, I've been wondering why I haven't received a single word back from you. Relieving me of this rather girlish fretting would be delightful. Maybe I should explain myself before you make any assumptions. I had been hoping to hear from you by now, you see. One who doesn't hear even a whisper from a girl after sending her a letter—two letters, now—has right to be at least slightly...what's the word? Nervous, I suppose. Eventually, I sincerely hope you'll find the time to write me back._

_—Scott_

Finally, her eyes drifted to the third and final letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Maybe there really was a point to all of that waiting! Everything's been going well since my last letter. Every day has been going by along the same lines – wake up, go to classes, go to Quidditch practice whenever it's scheduled, and then go to bed. This letter-writing thing to you has been a great experience for me. Makes my everyday routine a little different, which is nice._

_Everyone sure is excited about that Quidditch match, huh? Surely I'll see you there, since all of your Gryffindor mates are on the team and all. One day, I promise you that I'll personally see to it that you sit on Hufflepuff's side during one of them! Oh, can you imagine the talk that would happen after people saw you? No one, not one person, will see it coming!_

_Till next time,_

_Scott_

_P.S._

_I almost forgot to tell you something. Can you believe that? Anyway, my owl's name is Heather. No one's been able to get her to warm up to them in a long time. Two years, to be precise. With good reason, of course. At first, I debated not telling this to anyone but recently I changed my mind. I trust you. Talking about it with someone is so relieving. The reason Heather finds it hard to trust people nowadays is because she used to belong to someone else. One of my old friends, in fact. Since it wasn't that long ago, perhaps you knew him? Everyone, it seemed, knew him. Even people who didn't really __know__ him knew of him. You know who I'm talking about, right? Oh Merlin, I'm rambling. Unbelievable...setting that bit aside (I do apologize, but my thoughts are everywhere at the moment, it seems), he used to be one of my best friends._

_Cedric Diggory._

She finished what she was writing and looked over the letter, her heart pounding faster and faster as realization began to dawn on her.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I need your help, Hermione. Meet me soon. I can't wait to see you._

It was simple. Three sentences that clearly stated a plea. There was only one problem. Who was the sender? Her eyes flickered over the letters, searching and searching for something, _anything_ that could possibly be a clue until they latched onto two words.

The third letter fell from her hands to the floor, face-up. Her hand shaking, she finished the note. "'Sincerely,'…" Her soft voice cracked. She swallowed hard and whispered faintly, "'Cedric Diggory'."

When she finally got over her shock, she pulled out another piece of parchment and dipped her quill back into the ink and wrote her reply. It was simple. Three sentences that clearly stated an answer. She folded it up and put it into an envelope that she left unadressed, rushing out into the corridor to the owlry even though it was after hours. She called out for Heather, who came to her immediately, and attached it to her outstretched leg, setting her off into the night sky to find her owner.

_Dear Cedric_,

_I understand. Where do I meet you? When?_

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

* * *

><p>Hermione poked her head out of the stone doorway in the owlry. On second thought, she thought as she scanned her dark surroundings, maybe it hadn't been such a good idea after all. She could've waited until morning, at sighed softly and scurried along, her back up against the wall. She looked down at her clothes and blushed; all she was wearing was a pale blue tank top and a pair of pajama pants with little owls printed on them. If anyone saw her she would be positively mortified.<p>

Hermione darted across the corridor and ducked around a corner, her fluffy slippers padding softly on the stone floor. Only a few more hallways to go. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to sprint to the other side of the hall.

"Meow!"

She froze mid-step as the sound echoed off of the walls. She turned to look in the direction that the sound came from. Two bright yellow circles glinted at the end of the hallway.

"Did you hear something, my sweet?" Filch's raspy voice asked as he turned the corner, holding a bright lantern out in front of him. Hermione's foot instantly retracted and she hid behind one of the large pillars in the hallway, muttering a quick disillusionment spell. She involuntarily shuddered at the feeling of it cracking itself over her head. Filch hobbled his way through the corridor with the dark gray tabby cat as his guide. As they drew nearer to the pillar, Hermione instinctively pressed herself up harder against it. All those nights going on secret missions with her two best guy friends had really made her jumpy after hours. "I guess we were just hearing things, weren't we?"

She took a sharp breath as her footing slipped, but she caught herself just before she fell off of her perch. Filch's footsteps stopped a little ways in front of her hiding place. "Did you make that noise?" he murmured to his cat.

_Oh no, oh no, oh please no._

"Meow!" Mrs. Norris dutifully replied.

"I guess these old ears were playing tricks on us, eh, Mrs. Norris?" he chuckled slightly, shuffling the rest of the way down the corridor. Hermione waited until the yellow-orange light from his lantern was completely gone before she allowed herself to move. Her back slid down the column until she was sitting with her knees up to her chest, one palm out behind her on the chilled stone to balance herself and the other held over her fluttering heart.

"Dear _Merlin_," she whispered, "I thought I was a goner for sure." She waited until her heartbeat was stable again before rising to her feet. She was lucky enough that she didn't run into anyone else the rest of the way back, and sighed deeply as she finally settled herself beneath her covers. She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

* * *

><p>Hermione sat up, rubbing her pounding temples with her thumb and forefinger as she did so. She felt dizzy and a little nauseous, as if she had just gotten off of a fast-paced roller coaster ride, like the Tilt-a-Whirl at the traveling carnival that always came by her muggle home during the summertime. She blinked a few times to clear her blurry vision, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. A cool breeze blew through, causing her to shiver and rub the tops of her arms to warm them.<p>

She opened her mouth to speak, but realized that no words would come out, rendering herself unable to verbalize her thought as she looked around at her unfamiliar surroundings. She was sitting on limp, frost-covered grass, and she looked up to see a cloudy night sky. Where was she? It was too foggy for her to see much of anything else around her, so she decided to do some scouting on foot. She made to stand but her legs wouldn't work for her. She raised an eyebrow and looked at her pajama pants-clad legs. That was certainly odd.

Hermione turned around and noticed a large, looming shape through the dense fog and she strained her eyes to make out more details. The fog slowly began to clear, and as it did, a bit of recognition sparked within her. She took in each of the long, wooden benches and the different signs and banners hung around them. She read one that said, 'Hogwarts will dominate!' and another close by that had the words, 'Harry the Champion!' written across the sign. A sky blue banner with shiny gold trim around the edges was hung on one side, bearing the name and slogan of the French school, Beauxbatons, and a few feet beside it was another smaller one, this one a deep maroon color, that said, 'Durmstrang's Victor Krum will get the cup!'. Her brain processed it and she finally realized where she was – the stands for spectators to watch the competing schools' champions in the Triwizard Tournament.

Not a single noise was heard as she stared at the surprisingly empty structure. Where was everyone? And why was it so unsettlingly quiet?

A thud was heard from beside her, breaking the deafeningly noiseless atmosphere. Hermione jumped, startled, and turned to look to her left. What the – ?

Her eyes met a pair of unseeing, glassy ones. Emotionless eyes.

Dead eyes.

She opened her mouth to scream when she remembered that she couldn't make a sound. Her eyes burned with tears and her arms scrambled around desperately to push herself away, but her body was still. She couldn't will herself to break eye contact with his stationary eyes. Fat, scalding tears rolled down her flushed cheeks, leaving two glistening tear tracks from her eyes to her chin, where they dripped off and fell into her lap. Cedric Diggory lay on the grass, his empty eyes staring vacantly up at the cloudy sky.

* * *

><p>Hermione's eyes burst open and she shot straight up in her bed, sweat forming at her brow and forehead and trickling down her face. Her hair felt damp and hot, and her sheets were a twisted mess. She put her face into her hands and took a deep breath. "It was just a dream." She breathed, reminding herself. "Just a dream." She was <em>so<em> close to being convinced and being able to fall back asleep when her thoughts strayed back to what she had just seen.

A pair of unresponsive, blank gray eyes made their way to the forefront of her mind.

And Hermione tried to keep herself under control, she really, truly did, but she couldn't.

The dam burst. Fresh tears blurred her vision and streamed down her cheeks, and soft, choked sobs erupted from her throat. She buried her head into her pillow and pulled her blankets tightly around herself. She was cold, and for once it wasn't from the temperature. She wept silently, never feeling so alone and confused in her life.


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hermione Granger and her bookish tendencies, Hogwarts, or anything else besides my plot. :P

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

* * *

><p>Hermione didn't know what to expect when she sent that letter. The thing was, though she hadn't expected much, she had thought <em>something<em> would come out of it - she'd solved a riddle given to her by a sketchy teacher and decoded a secret message sent to her by one of her deceased classmates, for Merlin's sake! - but nothing happened.

At first, she waited patiently. After all, the person to whom her letter was addressed was dead, and there was certainly an understanding of that minor problem. However, days began to go by with no response, which turned into weeks over time. It had been nearly one month and three weeks since her letter had been sent, and she eventually gave up on the idea altogether. She had more important things on her mind than a potential meeting with some guy who had died two years prior, like Charms homework and Arithmancy tests, so she didn't mind.

Really. She didn't.

Alright, perhaps she sort of _did _mind. But only a little bit.

Besides, she barely knew the boy even when he'd been alive, so why should she care if he came to her for help? Especially when she didn't know what he wanted or the terms of the service he undoubtedly wanted from her. Really, all he did by not replying was save her from the stress that whatever it was would have added to her plate. Because if there was one thing that was true one-hundred and one percent of the time, it was that Hermione Jean Granger always had _something _to fret over. She was quite good at stressing herself out. Most importantly of all, though, was most definitely the fact that she _was not_ in any way angry. No sir, not Hermione!

One good indicator that she was upset with someone was when, as she vented about them, she didn't say that person's name. Obviously she wasn't even the slightest bit miffed, otherwise she wouldn't have to go into that big explanation about her feelings.

And another thing, speaking of that! The fact that Hermione had yet to think of his name as part of her internal conflict had nothing to do with her slightly hurt feelings. No way! In fact, she could easily put his name into a bloody sentence.

Cedric Diggory, she thought, was an inconsiderate blighter who made her feel like a fool.

* * *

><p>Hermione's quill was scribbling away furiously, breezily answering questions on her Potions quiz. Or, she should clarify, <em>pop <em>quiz. Luckily for her, she had been more than prepared; while the class was still going over simple hair growth elixirs found in chapter two, Hermione had read ahead and was currently studying the properties of the common sleeping draught in chapter twenty two. She read question number thirty-seven:_ What is the second step to the beard-growing potion, as discussed on pages fifteen and sixteen?_

Hermione tucked a lock of stray light brown curls behind her ears and smirked—in a very Draco Malfoy-ish way, if she were completely honest with herself—pleasurably. It was all just too easy.

She dipped the tip of her quill into her inkwell and began to write.

_The second step is stirring counterclockwise once, clockwise three times, and then carefully adding in the hair shavings of the user, if available. A good substitute could be obtained from a friend or family member with similar hair coloring_.

She moved on to the next question without breaking a sweat.

After she had answered the final question, Hermione capped her small, slender vial of ink with a stubby cork stopper and gathered all of the parchment she had answered her quiz on together. She glanced up at the clock. Huh, she thought as she looked around at all of the other students, their heads bowed low over their quizzes, she had finished that quiz within half an hour with over an hour left to spare. She sighed, standing up and walking to the front of the room to place her small stack of parchment on Snape's desk. She offered him the slight semblance of a smile as she handed it to his bony, pale outstretched hand. His mouth curled into his signature scowl, his inky eyes glittering as he snatched it from her. He turned his hook-shaped nose back to his lesson plans, his greasy black-haired head tipped downward again.

The teenage girl took it as an invitation to leave, so she turned and began walking back to her desk. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on two familiar, slightly muscular backs. A shaggy mop of dark hair looked up and turned slightly, a pair of sparkling green eyes met her own. His eyebrows were raised and his face displayed mock-surprise. "Done already?" Harry mouthed.

"You're not?" she mouthed back jokingly. He rolled his emerald eyes playfully and picked up his long brown feather quill and got back to work. Beside him was a head of bright orange hair that, in the Potions classroom lighting, gleamed like a glowing flame. Ron's hand gripped his writing utensil so tightly that his knuckles were white, the skin extremely taut, and his face was crumpled up in frustration, his brows knitted together. He must have sensed her watching because he turned toward her, his expression smoothing itself out. He quirked a red eyebrow at her, his face set into a look of curiosity as his dark blue eyes locked eye-contact with her.

"What?" he mouthed, his eyes quickly darting to the front of the room to make sure their professor wasn't watching and back.

Hermione shrugged. "You looked like you were having a hard time."

For a moment, she could have sworn that his expression softened ever so slightly but it was gone as swiftly and suddenly as it came for her to be certain. "Nah. I'm nearly done now."

"What question are you on?" Hermione posed silently, resting her elbow on the desktop and placing her cheek on her fist. His ears reddened and he ducked his head low, taking up his quill and scratching away on his quiz with a new-found haste. Hermione chuckled softly to herself and opened her Potions textbook and started reading from where she left off.

* * *

><p>The bell rang, signaling the end of the class period, and Hermione picked up her bag from where it lay on the floor beside her desk. She hoisted the strap up onto her shoulder and gathered her other belongings into her arms. She stopped in the doorway and turned back around to look at her two best guy friends. "Are you coming?" she asked.<p>

"Yeah," Harry replied tucking his quill into his pocket and picking up his Potions, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies textbooks from off of the wooden desktop in front of him. They both looked at their red-headed friend, who was currently talking with their teacher and shook their heads in unison. Ron hadn't finished his quiz within the allotted two hours' time frame of their class period. Bits of his pleas reached Hermione's ears.

"_Please_ Professor," he begged, "if I could just—"

"Absolutely not!" Snape snapped irritably, rising from his chair and gripping the desk. Ron silenced himself instantly. "Mr. Weasley, I'm sure that you are quite familiar with pop quizzes, yes?" he drawled rhetorically. "If you do not finish when the bell rings, there is no excuse. You must learn how to better manage your time."

Hermione could not stand aside any longer and spoke up. "Professor, perhaps Ronald might be able to -"

"Miss Granger," Snape sneered, looking at her with thinly veiled annoyance and disgust, "if you would kindly stop putting your nose where it doesn't belong, perhaps you would realize that no one likes a know-it-all." Hermione's mood instantly soured, her nostrils flaring.

"Very well." she spat through gritted teeth, spinning on her heel and walking out.

"That was uncalled for." she heard Harry say from the doorway.

"I agree." Ron said. "I'll just be going. Good day, _P__rofessor_." Even from where Hermione stood she could hear his frustration.

Tears pricked at the edges of Hermione's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. There was no way she would give that man any sort of pleasure for getting under her skin. Two pairs of footsteps echoed through the corridor. "Hermione, wait up!" Ron called.

"Slow down!" Harry chimed in. They picked up their pace, and Hermione turned to see them taking the hallway in long, quick strides.

When they finally fell into step with her, Harry on her right and Ron on her left, Hermione murmured, "Sorry about that."

"It wasn't your fault." Harry reminded her, patting her shoulder comfortingly.

"Yeah, 'mione," Ron agreed, swinging an arm around her shoulders. Her stack of ever-present library books swayed dangerously, and Hermione struggled to balance them back out. She sighed in relief when the tower in her arms stilled. "You can't help it that Snape's a slimy git."

Harry chuckled and the two reached behind Hermione to swap hi-fives. Hermione rolled her eyes and tuned them out as they continued their chain of insults (the more colorful ones courtesy of Ron) all the way to the Gryffindor common room. They met up with Ginny there, and the boys started up a game of Exploding Snap. "I'm going upstairs, alright?" Hermione said to no one in particular.

"Okay." Ginny replied, offering Hermione a quick smile before looking back at the game.

"Have fun!" Ron and Harry said in unison, not moving their eyes from their game. Hermione made her way to the stairs, pausing for a moment to listen to her friends talking.

"Hey!" Ron yelped, "That was cheating!"

"How did I cheat?" Harry questioned calmly. "I played my turn fair and square."

"B-but—!"

"Ron!" Ginny reprimanded, "Stop acting like a blubbering baby and _GO_! It's _your_ turn now." Ron huffed and grumbled loudly before playing. He made a snarky remark under his breath, and Hermione could only guess that the resounding slap that was issued afterward was well-deserved. "Watch it, mister." Ginny growled.

The squabble continued as Hermione made her ascent up the stairs to the sixth year girls' commons. She pushed open the door and walked over to her bed. She dropped the books onto the bedside table and let her heavy, overstuffed bag slip off of her shoulder and onto the floor. She de-robed herself, throwing them over the top of her trunk, which was placed at the end of the bed, and sat down heavily on her mattress while loosening her tie. Her whole body sagged, her usually straight posture slouched.

She blinked a few times, her eyelids feeling heavier each time, and fell back onto her pillow, fully prepared to take a nice, long nap before dinner.

Two things happened immediately after that.

One, her head most definitely did not land on her pillow. Two, she was certain that pillows did not make crumpling sounds when you laid on them.

Hermione reached behind her head to pick up the foreign object on her pillowcase, confused and curious all at once. Her fingertips ran over the grainy texture of parchment and she pulled it out from behind her head. She held it in front of her face, turning the folded square over a few times to examine it. The parchment was crisp in her hands, and it was a nice golden brown color.

Wait just a bloody minute.

Her body stiffened and her hands froze. She had only seen that type of parchment three other times prior to getting that particular one_. _She ran her fingers over the creases_. _Should she open it?

A spark of curiosity ignited within herself, and with each second that ticked by it grew until it became a roaring flame. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Hermione carefully unfolded it and read:

_Come to the Room at 9:00 pm tonight._

_-C._

Hermione folded the parchment back up into a small, neat square and placed it on her bedside table._  
><em>

All of a sudden, she wasn't so tired anymore.

* * *

><p>The remainder of the day went by at an extremely slow pace. Hermione didn't have any more classes after Potions that day, and her class had been let out at one thirty. She might've gone to visit Proessor Trelawney in the Hospital Wing out of guilt, but she had been dispatched and free to go back to work about two weeks ago.<p>

Her other options were limited: she could go downstairs and spectate Ron and Harry's Wizard Chess game—they'd switched after Harry won Exploding snap three times in a row—with Ginny, finish her Ancient Ruins homework two weeks early, or go to the library. Normally, she'd pick homework time over other things—it _was _one of her top priorities, after all—but it didn't seem appealing for once.

She was left with ultimately no other choices, so she decided to go for a walk out on the grounds_. _It would be a nice change of pace_, _She reasoned with herself as she pulled a thick jacket over a muggle sweater and jeans.

She took her wand from her bedside table and tucked it away in her pocket. Just before she started for the door, she made a last-minute decision and plaited her hair into a long braid in the back that stopped just in the middle of her back, the end curling nicely, then made her way back down to the common room.

Harry and Ron had apparently finished up their game a while ago, because now Harry and Ginny were playing against each other. They sat in the middle of the room, their chessboard set out on the red and gold rug on the hearth before the fire. Ron was seated not too far away in one of the plump brown armchairs. He looked up as Hermione entered the room.

"Where are you going?" He asked. Harry and Ginny turned to take a look as well.

"I fancied a walk on the grounds." Hermione replied softly, blushing under his gaze.

Why was she blushing? It was just Ron…

Her friends must not have noticed the faint coloring in her cheeks because of the reddish glow the fire cast upon her face.

Ron's face changed and he looked back up at her with inquisition—and, Hermione thought, forcing herself not to squint to get a better look, was that _hope_?_—_shining in the depths of his eyes.

"Mind if I come with you?"

Hermione's face grew five shades pinker, dumbfounded.

He wanted to come? She couldn't believe it. He really wanted to go with her!

What was she supposed to I do? What was she supposed to I say?

_Come on_, Hermione! Her conscience shouted at her, Do something already, before he changed his mind!

"Sure," She finally managed to force out with a sheepish little grin.

Ron stood up and smiled at her. "Hold on a second while I get my jacket," he said as he walked past her to his dormitory.

Hermione could only nod, starry-eyed. He was back quickly enough, wearing a deep blue pullover on top of his shirt.

They walked out of the common room and into the corridor, shuffling through the hall quietly. They continued in that manner until they walked through the great double doors that led outside. They were greeted by a gust of chilly November wind.

"So…" Ron murmured.

Hermione smiled softly. He was always the one to break the ice.

"So?" She turned and looked up at him, arching an eyebrow.

It was just then that she came to a few realizations. One, he had most definitely grown over the summer—he was nearly a whole foot taller than her now—and two, they were walking extremely closely together. Her arms were brushing up against his.

If she moved her hand just slightly, perhaps she could...

She stopped breathing for a second.

No! What in the name of Merlin's beard was wrong with her? He was one of her best friends, and that was all there was to it!

"Hermione?" His voice snapped her back to reality. She looked around and realized that he had led her to stand beside one of the many tall stone walls Hogwarts had to offer, with limp ivy vines trailing their way up to the top of it.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts as a scarlet blush began to creep its way up her neck. _He caught me daydreaming! _She wailed miserably inside her head.

"Are you okay?"

"What?" Hermione blinked her blush away.

He gestured toward a dark granite bench with intricately carved trees for the legs close to the wall. As she got closer, she saw a beautiful forest scene etched into the smooth seat. They sat down at the same time.

"Well," Ron looked out at the Forbidden Forest a long way away, on the other side of the courtyard. "You've seemed really distracted lately."

Hermione was appalled. How did he notice? Ron was as dense as tapioca pudding, for Merlin's sake! Had she really been that oblivious? She needed to be more careful about retreating into her thoughts around her friends from now on.

"What makes you say that?" she managed to ask, despite how heavy her tongue felt and how dry her mouth instantly became.

"You just haven't been yourself," He replied. Ron swiveled around to look at her and gently put one of his warm hands on her shoulder. Hermione's head turned, and her eyes locked with his. "Hey 'mione, if something was wrong, you would tell me right?" His voice was so sincere that Hermione couldn't lie to him.

"Yes, Ronald, I would." She answered, pushing the nagging voice in the back of her head that said, _This happened with Harry too, you know, and you said the same thing to him._ "Why would you even have to ask?"

His eyes were as deep as ever, the only significance about them being the slight shine in them from the faint sunlight. Hermione was slightly disappointed by that observation, somehow, but she couldn't say why for the life of her.

The corners of his lips lifted up in a smile and he dropped his hand, looking away from her again. "Good." Was all he said, though his voice sounded as though he wanted to say more.

So, like anyone would, Hermione sat and waited for him to speak. And waited. And after she had waited that, she waited some more.

A sudden burst of wind lashed out, biting Hermione's cheeks, nose, and ears until they were bright red from the cold. She looked at her companion only to see him staring into space. Her feelings of dissatisfaction began to weigh down on her, dropping little rocks into her stomach one at a time until she finally stood up. "Listen," she said at last, impatient with him.

He wasn't going to say anything, so what's the use? All that waiting ultimately did was waste her time_. _

Ron looked at her as she stood up, furrowing his brow but didn't say a word. "I'm going inside," she informed him. "It's getting colder out here and I'm afraid that if I stay out any longer I'll catch a cold." She turned and started walking until a sudden thought occurred to her. She spun around and looked at him, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you coming?"

It's an invitation, Ronald, she thought. Please take it.

"No," He replied, turning away from her quickly and resuming his staring at, well, whatever it was he had been staring at. "I'm fine right here, thanks." His voice had a slightly annoyed ring to it, and it was getting on Hermione's nerves.

She spun on her heel and shoved her balled up fists into her pockets. "Suit yourself," She muttered.

Hermione walked back to the common room by herself.

"Where's Ron?" Ginny asked as soon as Hermione had a toe in the common room. Hermione glowered and stomped over to the couch across from her, sitting down in a huff.

"I don't know," She replied, scowling as she finished, "and quite frankly, I don't care."

Ginny sighed. "What did he do this time?"

"He acted like a downright _git_!" Hermione exploded angrily. "I walked with him outside, sat with him, and we talked about how 'I haven't seemed like myself lately,' when all of a sudden he just turned from me and acts like he's too good to talk to me!"

The redhead pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Do go on."

"He said, and I _quote_, 'If something was wrong, you would tell me right?' and I said, 'Yes, Ronald, I would', and all he says is, 'Good'." Hermione crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "_Good_," she sneered. "Well _good_ bloody riddance! I'm sick of putting up with his nonsense."

Ginny waited a moment before talking. "Don't you think you might be blowing this a bit out of proportion?" To be honest, Hermione had been thinking the same thing all along, but her stubbornness combined with her hurt feelings made her ignore that tiny little voice inside her head. "It _is _Ronald Weasley we're talking about here. He's not the brightest candle in the bunch."

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out in an audible _whoosh_. The heat from her anger had already begun to subside. "I suppose it's a possibility," she admitted. But then she looked into Ginny's eyes seriously. "It's just different now with him, you know? I feel like...well, that..."

"Something could happen?" Ginny offered. Hermione nodded. "So, you have a soft spot for my big brother, huh?" Hermione cheeks flushed slightly.

"Well, you see, it's just that—"

Hermione was, admittedly, rather flustered about the whole ordeal, and trying to talk about it made things worse.

Her friend held up a hand to silence her. "Whoa, whoa!" Ginny laughed. "No need to get defensive about it. I'm his sister. I pick up on these things even before he does."

"What sort of things?" Hermione asked curiously, her face returning to its regular color.

"He really likes you, Hermione." Ginny said. "It's just that he's a stupid, thick-headed, prideful _boy_."

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't know how to do anything about it. I know him better than most people, and this is new for him. He looks at you differently than he's looked at other girls he's fancied in the past." Ginny explained slowly.

Hermione took a moment to let all of that sink in.

He...fancied her?

"But I still don't get it. Why did he act like he did earlier, then?"

"Ron's a special case," Ginny said. "He doesn't want you to know that he has feelings for you because he's scared you don't feel the same way. You just need to give him a little push. Trust me, he'll take the hint eventually."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "What should I do?"

"How should I know?" Ginny laughed. "He's_ your _future problem!" she winked at Hermione and stood up, brushing her palms off on her pants. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go upstairs to change for dinner. See you in a little while!"

"See you!" Hermione called after her as she went up the stairwell. She sat on the couch, staring dazedly into the fire.

Ron liked her. That was a fact. Now she have the problem of trying to get him to admit it.

Just then, the portrait swung open and in walked the man of the hour himself. His hair was a mess of red strands sticking up every which way and his clothes were in complete disarray. He walked in and leaned against the wall in an attempt to catch his breath.

"Ronald!" Hermione cried, jumping up from the couch and running over to him.

"'mione?" He panted, his startled blue eyes looking up to meet hers. "I was—I was just looking for you."

"What?" she queried. "Why?"

"Because—I wanted to say—" he took a deep breath and paused. He continued after a few seconds, when his breathing steadied itself back out to normal. "I wanted to apologize." Hermione gave him a quizzical expression. "I shouldn't have acted like that back there. Bloody hell, Hermione, I just—when you left I realized how angry I made you and—I'm sorry."

Hermione's expression softened. "It's okay." She murmured, reaching out to try to tame his hair.

She ran her fingers through his slightly wiry-feeling strands. It feels a bit like horsehair, Hermione thought absently as she smoothed it down. He closed his eyes and leaned in toward her touch. Hermione was surprised that her heartbeat managed to maintain a normal rate.

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have ran off." She drew her hand back and looked at the floor, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure of herself.

"So, um…" Ron said nervously. Hermione looked up and saw him scratching the back of his neck. His cheeks and ears were slightly red all of a sudden.

"Yes?" she asked. He shifted from one foot to the other. Hermione held her breath in anticipation.

Maybe he remembered that the next Hogsmeade trip was that weekend and he would ask her to accompany him! Oh, she simply couldn't wait to go with him. They could go to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer and grab a few sweets to share from Honeydukes and—

"We'd better get ready for dinner." He said quickly.

"Oh," Hermione looked down at her feet again and repressed a disheartened sigh. "Right." She forced a laugh, turning and walked toward the stairs without issuing another glance or word in Ronald Weasley's direction.

* * *

><p>Hermione entered the Great Hall, still slightly frustrated with Ron's insensitivity but pushed it away from herself and plastering on a smile. No need to get others upset, right?<p>

She smiled at a few of her fellow Gryffindors on her way to sit beside Harry and Ginny. She saw Ron's expression fall slightly when he saw her sit on the other side of the table, but she had two words for him: Too bad._  
><em>

She silently put food onto her plate and grabbed a biscuit. She reached for her knife to prepare to butter it when she noticed that it was on Ron's left; furthest away from her. She gritted her teeth. There was no way she was asking him for help.

He looked from her to the butter while he crammed his mouth fuller than capacity with meat and mashed potatoes, instantly catching onto her dilemma. He swallowed a little bit and said, "'ee 'ome 'el, 'erinny?"

"Sorry, come again?" Hermione asked irritably._  
><em>

He gulped his mouthful down. "Need some help, Hermione?"

"Thanks for the offer, but no thank you. I'm fine." She replied icily. She pulled out her wand and flicked it in the direction of the butter. "Accio butter." she stated boredly. It flew to her outstretched hand and she proceeded to smear a dollop of the creamy yellow substance onto her biscuit, placing the butter dish on the table in front of her.

"Hey Hermione." Ron said.

She rolled her eyes and didn't look up from her plate. "What, Ron?"

"Pass the butter."

"I didn't hear a 'please'."

"Fine." He said. "_Please_ pass the butter."

Hermione glanced at the butter dish as she ate a forkful of green beans. "Ask Harry."

"But it's closest to you!" Ron pointed out.

"Then I guess you won't be getting any butter." She told him simply, popping a piece of her biscuit into her mouth. Ron grunted in annoyance but began tearing into his chicken leg again. A few more minutes passed and then…

"Hey Hermione."

"_What,_ Ron?"

"Pass the butter?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please pass the butter."

"_No._"

"Why not?"

"FINE!" Hermione shouted. Quite a few heads turned to look in her direction to see what the commotion was. Her face reddened and she picked up the glass dish. "Here." She ground out, quieter this time. She didn't bother looking at him.

"Hey Hermione?"

Hermione ground her teeth together and threw her fork and knife down onto her plate, looking at Ron and sending him a death glare. "_What do you want_?" she demanded angrily. "I walked with you outside! I accepted your apology! _And I gave you the bloody butter! _What else could you possibly _want_?"

"I just wanted to say 'thank you'." Ron muttered, turning and eating his food. Despite his cool demeanor, Hermione could see that he had visibly shrunk down slightly from her.

"Don't talk to me." She spat, standing up and marching out of the Great Hall. She ran up the marble steps and through corridor after corridor. She didn't know where she was until she saw the door materialize on the wall in front of her. She didn't even hesitate to grab the doorknob and wrench the door open. She slammed it shut with all her might and turned to look at the room that the Room of Requirement had conjured up for her.

It was a small room with rich cocoa brown hardwood flooring and neutral brown colored walls. There was an ornate fireplace made out of a deep brown polished stone with a jolly fire glowing inside of it. A beautiful brown plush couch sat directly facing it, with two matching armchairs on either end. Two small round tables sat between the arms of the couch and each armchair, the exact color of the floor.

Hermione walked briskly across the room and threw herself down onto the couch. All of a sudden, she heard a door shut quietly and the sound of footsteps. "Leave me _alone_, Ronald." Hermione snapped, not bothering to look. It was just like him to try to come after her even after she _told _him to leave her be.

"I would, except I'm not Ron." A voice said from somewhere behind the couch.

It was a male voice, alright, but the speaker was right; it definitely wasn't Ron's.


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer**: Hey, guess what? Harry Potter isn't mine.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

* * *

><p>Hermione nearly jumped right out of her own skin in fright.<p>

"D-Diggory?" she whispered, standing up, her back still to him. She hugged the tops of her arms, her previous anger dissolved in an instant.

She was scared of how she would react if she saw him standing there.

"Don't be scared," he said soothingly. His voice didn't have the same teasing note that had been there mere moments ago. "Please."

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. "It's just that, well, you're dead."

She heard him sigh. "You think I haven't realized that yet?" He deadpanned somewhat sarcastically. Even his sarcasm had a soft, cushioning edge to it that Hermione wasn't used to. "But I'm still a person. Just like you."

Hermione bit her lip. He was right; no matter what state he was in, he was human.

So what if he was a bit more in touch with his supernatural side than her?

"I'm sorry." She repeated.

"Don't be. I've heard about as many apologies up until now that I can take." His smooth, calming voice grew quiet. "This would be a lot easier if you would at least look at me."

She turned slowly around, her eyelids still firmly shuttered, in the direction of his voice. "There. I turned around."

"Open your eyes," he told her, his tone as gentle as ever. "You need to see this."

Hermione reluctantly complied. Upon doing so, her eyes widened in shock.

Standing only a few feet away from her was the iridescent form of Cedric Diggory, still dressed in his yellow and black Triwizard uniform. That wasn't the part that alarmed her, however, as she was used to being around ghosts after attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the past six years (although, she regrettably reminded herself, she had never known any of them in any state besides death). Certain areas of his body were blurred and faded. The place that had once held the proud Hogwarts crest was indistinguishable.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times before she finally managed to stutter, "What happened to you?"

"That's why I need your help," Diggory explained. He looked over at the couch and beckoned for her to follow him as he walked over, a faint trail of incandescent light following his each and every movement until fading a few seconds later. "Come on. Have a seat."

Hermione sat without uttering any objections. He moved over and settled into one of the armchairs.

"Why didn't you go to someone else?" Hermione asked him. "Someone like Dumbledore or Cho or Scott, even?"

"Because you're the only person who can help me," He replied somewhat cryptically.

Hermione arched a questioning brow at his rather bold statement, but let it go. She was a curious soul, after all, and she wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery. She enjoyed puzzling things out and understanding the way things worked, and she understood that some things took time to gather the information necessary to come up with a reasonable conclusion. Presently, she would hate to be a bother by asking useless questions, so she got straight to the point. "What's the problem, then?"

She half-expected him not to answer or give her another strange riddle she'd have to figure out on her own time, but he surprised her yet again by giving her the whole truth of the matter.

"I wasn't ready to die," he answered. "I mean, who in their right mind would even consider death at our age?" He let out a rueful laugh. "People told me not to enter that stupid tournament but I was too prideful to listen. Cho and I got into a big fight after I was chosen as one of the champions because she had been completely against the whole idea, but I had been chosen and there was nothing I could do to change it by that point so I eventually got her to go along with it and everything was all well and good." He stopped, looked down, and his expression grew dull. "Until, well, you know."

Hermione's heart squeezed uncomfortably, her stomach churning and causing the dinner she had eaten only half an hour ago to make her feel slightly nauseous. She knew what was to come.

His eyes glazed over, a far-off look in them. "That night, Cho tried to tell me about her concerns again but I didn't really listen. I was stubborn and I wanted to win. I went into the maze and fought and ran and just played the game." His lips pulled into a small, pained smile as he continued, "I'm sure you can imagine that once I found the cup, I couldn't have been happier. It was finally over—all of my struggling to do well, to try to please everyone, to keep from tarnishing our school's name. At the time, I considered Potter and myself to be the winners, so we agreed to grab it at the same time. But when it turned out that the cup was a portkey and we went to the graveyard, I walked right into my own death." He shook his head. "I could've gotten away, Harry and I both, but I was too paralyzed with fear to turn back."

"No," Hermione intervened from her spot on the couch, "it wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could've done, Diggory. Harry's told me all about that night. It happened too fast for either of you to escape."

"You get the point though, right?" He asked her that as if he were begging for her to understand, and then muttered, "But I'm still dead when it comes down to it." As he looked at her, a determined gleam entered his eyes. "And that's what I need your help with. You see, ever since I started getting ideas about coming back, I've slowly been fading." He gestured to the blur on his chest that used to be the emblem. "I don't know why it's happening, but I get the feeling that once I'm completely gone, there won't be any way for me to come back. I think it will be like I was never here right at this moment, and all of my ties to this world will be gone." He adopted a pleading expression as he took in her skeptically knitted eyebrows. "I really don't have anyone else to turn to, Granger. Please say you'll help me."

Hermione couldn't help but pity him. He looked so lost, sitting there. She was sure that this would take a lot of work and it would undoubtedly have to be kept a secret, which meant lying to her friends. She was a terrible liar, which could have negative repercussions.

She weighed the pros and the cons. Pro: save someone's life, literally. Con: upset her friends and possibly make them lose some level of trust in her. Pro: prove that she could do something herself without Harry and Ron. Con: get into trouble—she cringed—or worse, _expelled._

She looked at Diggory's face, capturing the hopeful gleam in his eye, however small it was, and wondered when the last time he had felt hope was, although she had a feeling it had been a while. Her heart screamed the answer at her even as her head, always providing logical insight into situations, tried to drown it out.

"It must be that Gryffindor bravery but," she shook her head, smiling slightly to herself as she decided that it was about bloody time to give herself a chance to be more than just books and cleverness for once, "I'm in."

She looked up and met his eyes once again and saw something different in them than there had been in Ron's earlier. There was a natural shine in his eyes that sparkled like nothing else she had never seen before. His determination to live, his will to fight for what he wanted shone through his eyes, and Hermione found herself happy with that finding.

She stood up and brushed her sweaty palms off on her skirt and walked over to the door to the room. She reached for the handle.

"Wait." Diggory called.

"Yes?" she asked. She turned to see him standing up with his body angled in her direction.

"Thank you for helping me," he said slowly, then let out a disbelieving laugh, "and, well, for coming at all."

"You're welcome." Hermione replied, beaming at him. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes, actually, there is." He answered. He shot her a little smirk and lifted his left hand to look at his bare wrist. "If this time is correct, then I do believe that you're running a bit ahead of schedule."

"Yeah, well," Hermione shrugged, her smile widening at his sudden silliness. She decided to play along. "I couldn't wait to see you either, I guess."

He chuckled, "Goodbye, Granger." He waved at her.

"Bye, Diggory." She said, waving back at him as she opened the door.

And as she closed the door, she could've sworn she heard him say, "Good luck with Ron," but she just wasn't sure.

Hermione made her way back to the Gryffindor tower in something of a daze. She didn't run into anyone on the trip, which was a relief because she wasn't in the mood for talking—not even to exchange simple pleasantries. Her head was swimming with thought the whole way.

She had just spoken to a dead guy_. _She still couldn't believe it.

Her feet tapped softly against the marble steps of a stairwell as she made her way upstairs. She walked briskly down the following corridor, trying to figure out the best way to help him, but she didn't even know where to start.

Well, actually, she did. When in doubt, research was the answer, which meant that she would be spending a lot more time in the library than she already did. Not that she was complaining, of course.

Her feet came to a stop and she looked up. A large painting of a rather rotund woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a pretty, elegant style wearing a fancy pink satin dress was in her way.

The Fat Lady looked down at her with oil-painted brown eyes set into a round face from her gold frame. "Password?"

"Frozen newt eyes." Hermione replied.

"Very well," the painting said disappointedly, put off by the fact that she hadn't gotten any noteworthy gossip from the bookish teenager. Not that she ever did, but here's hoping. Her eyes looked Hermione up and down before adding, "In you go."

"Thanks," Hermione mumbled under her breath, stepping through the portrait hole.

Really, all she wanted at that moment was a long, deep, uninterrupted goodnight's sleep.

"Where have you been?" a familiar voice brought her back to Earth from her thoughts.

Her eyes scanned the room tiredly until they landed on a very irritated Ronald Weasley sitting on one of the common room couches. The fire glowed off of his face and hair, and his freckled arms were crossed over his chest.

"I just want to go to sleep, Ron." Hermione said tiredly, pulling her leg into the room just as the portrait began to swing closed. As if her body was trying to provide truth to her testament, she let out a wide yawn.

He looked taken aback. "Are you serious, Hermione?" He asked, standing up and walking across the room to stand in front of her. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What are you talking about, Ronald?" she questioned, too exhausted to argue with him.

"Have you gone bloody _mental_?" He was getting more fired up, she could tell, but she really wasn't looking for a fight. "Or did you happen to forget about how you stored off at dinner?"

Hermione had almost forgotten about that. The argument felt like it had taken place forever ago.

"Ronald, I don't want to fight with you any more tonight."

His eyes hardened and his cheeks flushed in anger. "We aren't." He ground out.

Hermione raised a brow before shrugging and yawning again. "Okay, well, that's great. Goodnight, Ron." She pushed past him and made her way to the stairwell that led to the girls' commons.

She heard him sigh, dispelling his frustration. "Mione, wait."

Hermione turned around. "What?"

Ron rubbed the back of his neck. The tips of his ears grew red. "I just…I wanted to say…"

Hermione's exhaustion was momentarily put on hold as she held her breath, daring to get her hopes up. Now that he'd had some time to think it over, was he finally going to ask her to go Hogsmeade with him? Her heart pounded away in anticipation as he opened his mouth, his arm moving to pull something from behind his back._  
><em>

Her eyes widened slightly, and she blushed a little. Had—he gotten her a gift? It was quite out of character for him, but it was a thoughtful gesture all the same. She bit her lip to hide the smile threatening to creep onto her face just before his hand was completely in the open and exposed it.

Her heart plummeted to the ground and her face froze as she saw a very familiar object in his hand.

"You, er, forgot your book." He awkwardly held it out to her. "At the table, I mean."

She stared at it for a moment, blankly observing the way the firelight danced across the cover. The back of her eyes burned and her heart was crushed beneath the weight of her internal humiliation.

"Oh," Hermione laughed to cover up her festering disappointment. "right. My…book." She took it from him. "Is that it?"

"Well…" He frowned, his brow pinching up in confusion. "Yeah. Were you expecting something else?"

She could feel the tears threatening to spill over and closed her eyes, forcing a smile to satiate him. "No," Hermione said, "there isn't. Thanks for..." she felt her voice trying to give out and quietly cleared her throat before opening her eyes for a moment. The tears had receded for the moment. "Thanks for this."

Ron beamed, oblivious to the inner turmoil he had caused. "No problem, 'mione." Hermione turned and silently made her way up the stairs, her limbs suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever before. An all-too familiar ache filled her, a pain that ravaged her happiness and left her feeling unattractive and undesirable. It was an eternal winter that raged within her soul, leaving her frostbitten and cold to the core.

She got to the common room door and opened it. All the girls inside were, surprisingly enough, asleep. Usually Parvati and Lavender would stay up until the wee hours of the morning gossiping endlessly, and Hermione would ultimately have to place soundproofing charms around her four poster if she had any hopes of getting some sleep.

She closed the door and slumped against it, dropping the book onto the floor. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes and blinked a few times before running her sleeved arm over her eyes and bending down to pick up the book. This was not worth her tears. She walked over to her bed, set it on her bedside table, and collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed.

She had long since succumbed to her destiny that she would always be overlooked. She understood, after all, knowing painfully well how plain she was. Her hair was too unruly, her eyes were too unremarkably brown, and her body was definitely nothing to gawk at. Books were truly the only constant in her life that she could rely on. They would always accept her, and she often preferred them over human interaction because she knew they would never make her feel bad about herself or tear her down.

She liked to pretend that they could distract her and make her feel like she was worth something despite Ron's negligence and Malfoy's constant remarks about her dirty blood. But it was all pretend, really, because the older she had gotten the more she secretly craved tender touch and affection.

Yes, even Hermione Jean Granger, the damned Brightest Witch of the Age, wanted to be loved. But she was smart enough by now to know that she would most likely never be unless Ronald finally recognized the feelings Ginny had suggested he had for her.

She pulled the rubber band out of her hair and ran her fingers through it, undoing her braid. She lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling for a long while until her eyelids began to slide closed. Sleep began to sink into her, blanketing her troubled mind in the blissful numbness of unconsciousness._  
><em>

* * *

><p>Hermione sat up, rubbing her pounding temples with her thumb and forefinger as a headache came on from sitting up too quickly. She swayed a little dizzily for a moment, her stomach churning as a wave of queasiness hit her. She blinked a few times to clear her blurry vision, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. A chilly gust of wind tore through the air, whipping her hair around. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself to shield her body from the cold.<p>

She opened her mouth to speak just to realize that no words would come out, rendering herself unable to verbalize her thoughts as she looked around at her unfamiliar surroundings. She was sitting on limp, frost-covered grass, and she looked up to see a cloudy night sky. She reached out and ran her fingers over the cool growth, a sense of déjà vu overcoming her.

Because it was so foggy, Hermione decided she would get up and walk around a bit to explore, but her legs seemed to be disconnected from her brain. She raised an eyebrow and looked at her unmoving stocking-clad legs.

Hermione turned around and noticed a large, looming shape through the dense fog and she strained her eyes to make out more details. The fog slowly began to clear. She took in each of the long, wooden benches and the different signs and banners hung around them. She read one that said, 'Hogwarts will dominate!' and another close by that had the words, 'Harry the Champion!' written across the sign. A sky blue banner with shiny gold trim around the edges was hung on one side, bearing the name and slogan of the French school, Beauxbatons, and a few feet beside it was another smaller one, this one a deep maroon color, that said, 'Durmstrang's Victor Krum will get the cup!'. Her brain processed it and she finally realized what the structure was was – the stands for the students of the competing schools to observe the Triwizard Tournament.

She turned the other way and saw the gloomy maze entrance a ways from herself, fog creeping out from between the leaves in the bushes, beckoning to her. She shivered but it was not from the cold, although she wasn't sure why the maze stirred a terrible feeling in her gut.

There was a thud beside her and she started, her heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through her veins from the surprise brought on by the sudden disturbance, before turning to look at what had caused it and meeting a pair of blank grey eyes.

Her eyes blurred with startled tears upon seeing her dead classmate and she furiously wiped her tears of with the heels of her hands, forcing herself to break eye contact. She stared at her hands instead. Her very warm, very alive hands. Hands that had blood coursing through veins in them. Veins that ran through her body and led to her very much alive and beating heart.

This, she thought, was how it was supposed to be. She bit her lip to keep her chin from trembling.

Hermione forcefully tore her eyes from the lines of her palms and allowed them to drift back over to Diggory's body. His cheeks were pale and colorless beneath dried sweat and mud caked to his face, and his wavy brown hair had flecks of dirt in it. She reached out a shaking hand and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers, instantly recoiling upon the contact. It felt like ice.

She looked from her hand to his face for a moment before extending her arm and flinched as her fingertips once again brushed against his skin, but she forced down her shivers of fear and began carefully brushing the grime from his face. After that, she shook the dirt from his hair.

She may not have known him very well, but she was certain that he would not appreciate being so filthy. She finished and looked over him, and the ghost of a pleased smile flitted across her face for a moment.

She was reaching out to close his eyes forever more when she heard a voice. It was faint, and had it not been completely silent she probably wouldn't have heard it. "Thank you."

And then everything was gone with a puff of smoke. All of her surroundings blended together in a whirlwind of color until there was nothing left.

* * *

><p>Hermione awoke with goose bumps all over her body, and her hair and face were caked with sweat. She was breathing hard and her heart was beating fast. She shivered, just noticing that her blankets were in a messy pile on the floor beside her bed, before her body suddenly began convulsing with shuddering, dry sobs.<p>

After she had finally cried herself out and her eyelids drooped low over her eyes, that same gentle voice whispered somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind just loud enough for her to hear, _"Thank you."_


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer**: *is still waiting for the day my polyjuice potion works and I can finally be J.K. Rowling*

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

* * *

><p>Hermione awoke to the sound of screaming. Not just any screaming either, but rather a wail of despair. She tried (unsuccessfully) to drown it out by putting her pillow over her ears, but it didn't work. Sighing upon realizing that since she was clearly not going to be getting any sleep for a while, she set her pillow aside and decided to see what was the matter. Hermione discovered that the sound came from the sixth year girls' lavatory and shuffled her tired feet across the room and through the door.<p>

Inside, peering into the mirror at herself was Lavender Brown. "Why're you screaming?" Hermione asked quietly, followed by a yawn. "It's five twenty-two in the morning, Lavender."

The brunette in question spun around and looked at Hermione with puffy red eyes. "Who cares what time it is!" She exclaimed. Her bottom lip quivered and she turned back to the mirror. Hermione inched herself further into the room to get a better view of Lavender's face through the dirty mirror. The girl had her fingers up to her face and pinching and prodding at a part of her chin. "I…" Her voice came out as a hushed whisper, "have a…" She sniffled dramatically. "a _pimple_!"

And her bawling started up again.

Hermione blinked in disbelief before her expression grew stern. "Oh come _on_!" Hermione said exasperatedly. Lavender looked at Hermione's reflection in the mirror.

"W-what?" She questioned, shocked.

"There _is _such a thing as a concealment charm, you know." Hermione explained, forcing herself not to face palm. She waited a moment for that to sink into Lavender's head. She did a complete one hundred eighty degree spin and was in front of Hermione, shaking her wrists desperately, before she had time to blink.

"Show me how!" she begged. "Please, Hermione!" Hermione just rolled her eyes and drew her wand from her pocket. She waved it in front of Lavender's face and muttered the incantation loud enough for the other girl to hear and then the small red growth was gone.

"There." Hermione muttered. "You're good as new." She conjured a hand mirror for Lavender and handed it to her. She examined her reflection in it before flinging her arms around Hermione's neck and squeezing her as tightly as humanly possible.

"Thank you!" she squealed. And then her arms were gone and she skipped out of the bathroom, leaving Hermione to herself.

After that little situation had been dealt with, Hermione couldn't have gone back to sleep even if she tried, so she stayed awake and got ready. She decided that she would be early to breakfast. She quickly ran her brush through her hair, threw on her clothes, brushed her teeth, gathered her school things, and went down to the empty common room. As she was walking down the stairs, a ball of crumpled paper soared through the air toward her and plunked the top of her teetering stack of books, which made them begin to tip and she lost her balance. She tumbled down the stairs and landed on the floor in a painful, throbbing mess of books and quills and papers. Her throbbing head popped up to glare at the culprit, who – wasn't there.

The person who threw the ball of paper wasn't even _there_. Hermione fumed and snatched up the crumpled piece of parchment and ripped it open to read what she presumed was written inside.

_Good morning!_

That was it. Those were the only two words scribbled across it in untidy scrawl, and Hermione eyes instantly narrowed when she recognized whose handwriting it was. "Ronald Billius Weasley," she muttered under her breath as she picked up all of her scattered books, "you are a dead man." Once she had herself back on her feet and situated once again, the very person she had been envisioning murdering in extremely creative and evil ways had the audacity to pop up in her path.

"Good morning!" He said cheerily.

"It most certainly is _not_ a good morning, thank you very much." Hermione mumbled.

"Why?" Ron asked, genuinely confused. "You got my letter, right?"

"Oh, you mean that?" she pointed with her eyes to a crumpled ball on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. She hadn't even felt like picking it up. He nodded eagerly. "I got it, alright."

"And? What did you think?"

Hermione's irritation grew even more. "What do you mean, 'What did I think'? All it said was 'Good morning', for Merlin's sake!"

Ron frowned. "You didn't use the spell, I take it."

"_What _spell, Ronald?"

"I wrote the rest in invisible ink so that no one else could read it but you. I thought you would have realized…" He trailed off, furrowing his brows.

"—but I didn't." Hermione finished for him. She started tapping her foot impatiently, her bum and left side still sending prickles of pain shooting up her back from the fall. "Since I'm already here, why not _tell _me what it said."

"I really wanted you to _read_ it."

"We're the only ones here." She said through gritted teeth as a rather painful jolt crept its way up her spinal cord.

"Still…"

"Tell me now or forever hold your peace." Hermione said, making an ultimatum. She was still tired after having been woken up at such a dreadful hour (she usually awoke at six thirty), had just fallen down the stairs, and her stomach roared at her to supply it some food to digest. She most certainly wasn't game for playing his games. It was _way_ too early for that.

"Fine." He groaned. "It said…" He blushed harder than he ever had before. "_WillyougotoHogsmeadewithme_?"

Hermione blinked, unable to understand his gibberish. "What? I'm sorry, truly, but I can't understand what you're saying when you talk that fast."

Ron gulped. "Will you…" he took a deep breath. "Will you go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?" Hermione was dumbfounded. She opened her mouth to reply when she saw a flicker of panic in his eyes. "H-Harry'll come, too, of course. A-and Ginny." He added.

She smiled softly, and for a brief moment, the storm inside of her subsided and she could feel warmth creeping back into the pores of her being. "I'd love to go with you."

Ron smiled back. "Cool." Hermione stood there for a moment more, waiting for him to say something. Anything, really, to relieve the strange tension that enveloped them.

Hermione found herself giving him a good look and could have laughed. What an odd pair they were, she thought. Him, with his tall, lanky figure and she with her own smaller, petite body. He was a fiery red head with deep cobalt eyes, and she was a mousy brunette with brown eyes. He wasn't the brightest, and she was knowledgeable on a plethora of topics that spanned across time, subjects, fiction, non-fiction, and the magical and muggle worlds. He was loyal to his last breath, his most redeeming quality, and she was very brave when she needed to be. He loved Quidditch, and she was terrified of even getting on a broom.

They were a funny couple, indeed, and she was sure that others might see them as a strange pair, but they still needed each other despite the fact that they were as different as day and night. And perhaps there wouldn't be as much passion in their relationship, if it got that far, as mutual understanding of one another after five years of companionship, but that was alright with her. She didn't need very much attention to be happy, just some form of acknowledgement every now and again. And of course he was always going to be Ron, so she knew he would hurt her feelings again and again, but he always apologized eventually. That's what really mattered, she supposed.

He cleared his throat, and finally said, "See you in a little while at the Great Hall for breakfast, Hermione." He waved awkwardly at her and hurried up the stairs to his dormitory. Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled to herself as she pushed through the portrait hole.

"Ron will be perpetually awkward." She said to herself with a giggle as she made her way through all of the corridors and passageways and stairways to the Great Hall. She hiked her bag higher up onto her shoulder and held her Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration textbooks, in addition to a few other books for her own personal enjoyment, closer to herself.

"Psst!"

Hermione stumbled upon hearing a noise. She shook her head after a moment, deciding that it was too early and her mind was playing tricks on her. She held her books slightly tighter and continued shuffling toward the Great Hall for breakfast, her mouth already watering in anticipation of the eggs and warm toast with jam waiting for her. She could already envision the condensation from her orange juice on her goblet...

"Pssssst!" She actually stopped this time and inclined her head to listen. She heard it again, louder than the last two times. "Psst!"

She gathered her courage and spoke up. "Hello? Who's there?"

In light of the recent Death Eater attacks on numerous muggle cities lately, she would much rather be safe than sorry. What she would give to be clutching her wand at that moment instead of her books, although her reflexes had been fine tuned enough after the Quidditch World Cup incident that, if necessary, she could drop her books and have already fired a stunning spell before they could finish saying, "_Avada_."

"Granger," Diggory's clear, laughing voice carried itself into her ears. "it's me."

Hermione let out a laugh and her nerves diffused instantly as she turned to see him poking his head around a corner. "What are you doing? If you aren't careful, someone's bound to see you."

"I'm not worried." He said, leaning his back against a pillar with his arms crossed over his chest and looking at her with translucent grey eyes that still somehow managed to shine.

"Yes, but you should be." Hermione reminded him.

His smile slipped off of his face. "They can't see me."

"What?" Hermione asked. "Who?"

"Any of them." He replied.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm fading." He said. Hermione looked at the blurs on his body and then back at his eyes.

"What about before?" She asked him. "You said that you went to a few other people before me for help. Why couldn't anyone see you then?"

"I don't know." He answered. He looked upward with a thoughtful expression. "To be honest, I've never really thought about it." Hermione didn't know what to say, which was a first, so she remained silent. "You know," Diggory mused, "I'm not really sure why _you_ can see me."

"Didn't you pick me?" She inquired, rolling her shoulder to readjust her backpack strap. It felt like it was beginning to cut into her shoulder blade from the weight of all of her things.

"Not exactly…" Diggory said, running a hand through his hair. "It's – ah…" His eyes darted up to look at something behind her and she turned to see a group of three Ravenclaw boys making their way to breakfast. When she looked at Diggory again, he had a small smile tugging at his lips. "Care to go somewhere a little more private? You probably looked like a lunatic carrying on a conversation with yourself just now."

Hermione shifted the weight of her books in her arms and nodded with a soft laugh, bouncing her shoulder up to reposition her bag again. "Sure." Diggory's eyes lingered on her armful of heavy, thick volumes for a long moment. "What?" Hermione asked, blowing that agitating lock of hair from her forehead.

"Your books…" He murmured, his eyebrows knitting together slightly. His eyes flickered up to her own. "Try a downsizing charm on them." She looked quizzically at him. "They look heavy." He said.

"Oh." Hermione said, setting them down gingerly on the cool stone floor. She looked up at him as she brandished her wand from her robe pocket. "Thanks."

She pointed it at them and muttered a quick spell. The books disappeared in a shower of white light and gold sparkles and were downsized enough to fit safely into her pocket. She scooped them up with one hand and tucked them safely away with her wand. While she was at it, she did the same to her bag.

"No problem." Diggory replied, smiling slightly. "Feel better?"

Hermione flashed him a smile of her own. "Loads." He chuckled and led her through a few corridors and up a few staircases before stopping in front of a bare wall. A familiar arched wooden door with a looped brass handle materialized in front of them. Hermione waited expectantly for him to go inside. He looked down at the ground and lightly cleared his throat.

"I, er… Prefer not to go through things, if possible." his cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment. Hermione mentally smacked herself in the forehead and reached forward to open the door.

"Sorry." She mumbled, her own cheeks turning a light shade of pink at her momentary disconnect. He shrugged and walked through the doorway, Hermione just behind him. She was amazed to see the same room from the previous night set out before them but didn't say anything. She was just beginning to look around for a place to set her bag when a rack appeared out of thin air on the wall. Her eyes widened in surprise and she wordlessly hung the strap on the hanger.

"It's pretty neat, isn't it?" He asked, a small smile on his face. Hermione noticed that he had adorable dimples in both his cheeks when he did so.

"It is," she agreed. She walked across the room and sat down on one of the soft couch cushions. Diggory took an armchair. The fireplace before them instantly sprang to life. A few minutes of comfortable silence followed, both of the teenagers intent upon looking into the orange flames.

"When I was still alive," he told her, "I used to come here all the time."

Hermione turned her head to look at him. "Really?"

"Yeah," He said, "especially when I was in the Tournament." Hermione nodded in understanding. "The stress would grate on my nerves until I couldn't take it anymore, so I'd drop by for a while to relax." He finally drew his eyes from the fireplace glowing happily in the grate and looked into her own. "And would you like to know the strangest part?"

"What's that?" Hermione inquired softly. She was still stunned at how willing he was to offer up such personal information about himself, but she supposed that she shouldn't be surprised since he hadn't had a conversation with anyone in two years. She felt so many levels of sympathy for the lost, handsome boy. He had been in solitary confinement for a while, and she was sure that it got very lonely at times.

His lips lifted at the corners and his eyes brightened a little. "It always looked the same."

Hermione laughed. "The Room is known for supplying what its occupant or occupants need."

"Indeed." He concurred, chuckling. They quieted down for a bit, leaving Hermione to her thoughts. She turned back to the warmth blazing lazily in the fireplace, its red-orange tendrils happily eating away on the sizeable logs.

He was so like…and yet so incredibly unlike…

She watched him through the corner of her eyes. But it wasn't like that with Diggory_. _Her eyes flickered back to the fire. And besides, she was going out with _Ron_ this thought pushed all other more confusing ones away, and she felt a tiny grin spread across her face.

Maybe he had finally come to his senses! She couldn't wait until-

"Granger?" The sound of his voice ripped her from her thoughts in a way similar to having a bucket of ice-cold water dumped all over her head. The calm, gentle nature of his voice helped to settle down her racing heartbeat.

"Yes?"

"You asked me in the corridor why I picked you." Diggory said. "Would you still like to know?"

Hermione turned around to face him fully. "Of course."

"I can only tell you what I know. Is that alright?"

"Anything is better than nothing."

"Okay." He looked somewhat uncomfortable all of a sudden, but he didn't break eye contact. "When I first…you know…"

"Realized you were," Hermione searched for a good word. "deceased?" she offered hesitantly. He nodded and swallowed.

"It was the weirdest experience. I awoke in this sort of foggy haze, unable to make out much of anything. Everything was the same as it was earlier that night, just before I went into the maze. The stands, the weather, even the grass..." He got a slightly far-off look in his eyes as he continued speaking, as if he were reliving that moment all over again. "but no one was there. Everyone was gone. I wanted to shout, wanted to get up and run away from that place, but I couldn't. It was like…"

"Like you were held there by some invisible force?" Hermione supplied in a hoarse whisper.

"How did you know that?" He asked curiously, arching an eyebrow.

"Just – just a feeling." She murmured faintly. Her blood felt as though it had frozen solid in her veins, and she felt a wave of vertigo wash over her. Her breathing became unsteady and airy.

He – he'd been there, too_. _The thought replayed over and over in her head.

Diggory had been to the place in her dreams.

And then, promptly, Hermione fainted.

* * *

><p>She opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to dispel the blackness surrounding her vision. Her eyes carefully scanned the fireplace with a jolly, warm fire going strong inside of it, the rack on the far side of the room on the wall with her bag hung on it, and the plump brown cushion she was seated on.<p>

She sat up and felt something sliding down her torso, and when she looked down at her lap she saw an unfamiliar brown and red woven blanket draped over her that was now only covering her legs. "I thought you looked cold." Diggory said. Hermione jumped in surprise and spotted him sitting in an armchair, his expression still carrying traces of worry. "The Room conjured it up for you." He said, as though she had asked a question.

"Thank you." She said, her eyes softening as she looked at him. He was so kind to her and yet he hardly even knew her. How often was it that you come across someone like that?

She felt herself comparing Diggory and Ron again without meaning to, but she couldn't help herself. If Ronald had been in his position, would he have covered her up? She almost snorted. No, because Ron probably wouldn't have even thought she looked cold. He wasn't the most observant person she'd met.

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither knowing what to say. "I'm sorry," he said finally, his eyes shining apologetically.

Hermione shook her head, tugging the blanket up a little bit. "It wasn't your fault. You don't need to apologize to me."

"I shouldn't have-"

"Diggory," Hermione interrupted, smiling softly at him, "I'm not upset with you."

He nodded his head once and emitted a small sigh, his posture relaxing. "Okay."

A sudden thought struck Hermione's mind. "Oh sweet Merlin." She muttered, throwing the blanket off of herself and frantically looking around the room for her shoes, which she had evidently taken off.

"What's wrong?" He asked, leaning forward and putting his elbow on the armrest and setting his chin on his fist.

"How long," Hermione said slowly, peeking underneath the furniture for her missing shoes, "have I been out?" She spied her shoes behind the couch and dashed over to put them on.

"About thirty minutes or so." He replied. Hermione had just managed to slip on her left shoe.

"Oh." She said, chuckling at her foolishness. "I still have roughly an hour and a half before everyone else who isn't there already will get to the Great Hall."

"That's true." Diggory said. Hermione just shook her head in disbelief and took her shoe back off, settling herself back onto the couch. She was tempted to ask for him to continue from where he left off before she fainted, but she decided to leave it alone for now. It was too touchy at the moment to approach for herself, too, anyway.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Hermione asked.

"Shoot." He answered, looking over at her from his armchair.

"How exactly did you write those letters to me? I thought you couldn't, er, you know…" she searched for the right word for a minute. "_touch_ things, for lack of a better phrase."

He chuckled and his eyes lit up with excitement. "This room," he said, gesturing around, "really is something." Diggory gave her a grand smile. "It gives its occupants whatever they need, you said so yourself."

"Yeah, that's right." Hermione said. She silenced herself and listened, curious to see where he was going with it.

"See that corner over there?" he pointed across the room. Hermione looked at the empty space and back at him, nodding. "I came in here one day and saw a desk sitting there. I walked over to it and sat down in the wooden stool. As soon as I was seated, a quill and parchment appeared before my eyes. The quill dipped itself into an inkwell and stood, tip poised and ready to write. Before long, my thoughts were spilling out onto the page. I came back a few more times and practiced with it before writing an actual letter." He paused, contemplating that for a moment. "That's the first one I wrote to you." He said, smiling slightly at Hermione.

She pieced the information over in her brain, mulling over it a bit before speaking. "So, since it was writing down your thoughts word for word…"

"It wrote them in my handwriting." He finished for her. "It was a brilliant piece of magic."

"I believe it." Hermione sighed wistfully. "I wish I could've seen it…"

"You could, you know." Diggory said, sitting up a little.

"How is that? I don't necessarily need it, I simply _want_ it."

His grin widened. Those two dimples showed in his cheeks again. "I know this room better than most."

"How?" She asked.

"I told you before, I used to come here all the time, and now I have an overabundance of time to spend lazing around. I think I've had long enough to figure out a few things by now, wouldn't you agree?"

Hermione laughed. "I suppose so," she said.

He stood up and walked over to her and held his hand out to her. "Come on." He said, smiling down at her.

Hermione looked from his hand to his eyes, regarding him skeptically. "How am I supposed to…?"

"Trust me." He stated, his eyes glowing. Hermione hesitated a moment longer before finally giving in. She reached out toward his slowly, unsure of how she would be able to grasp it, exactly, but his gentle smile made her relax.

All of a sudden, the door banged open. Hermione gave a start and dropped her hand quickly. Ron burst in not even a whole second later, his hair wild and his clothing mussed. His eyes fell onto her. "There you are!" He exclaimed. Hermione looked from Ron to Diggory and back to Ron.

"Here I am?" She echoed, puzzled by his anger.

"Where've you _been_? I was looking all over for you!" He exclaimed.

She finally found her voice, her internal temperature rising a few degrees from his interrogation. "Well, Ronald, I've been—"

"No time, 'Mione! We need to get going _now_!" He ran across the room and grabbed her wrist, yanking her off of the couch. He looked at her stockinged feet and sighed as if to say, 'Why do I even bother?'. "Put on your shoes and I'll get the rest of your things."

Hermione frowned and shoved her feet into her shoes, still very confused and slightly agitated. "Remind me why, exactly, we're in such a hurry? We still have," she looked at a clock that had just magically appeared on the fireplace's stone mantle. "thirty-five minutes until class."

Ron walked over with her bag slung over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing and said, "You have to come to the Great Hall and sit with me for breakfast before it gets too full."

Hermione blushed slightly and shuffled her feet across the floor to meet up with him, surprised by his thoughtfulness. "Well, er, thank you. That's really sweet of y—"

"We have that Charms essay due today, remember?" He said. Hermione's eyes snapped up to meet his clear, blue ones, her pleasant feelings swallowed instantly up by anger that simmered inside of her and begged to be unleashed upon him.

She exhaled slowly. One, two, three… that's right. Remember those breathing exercises Mum and Dad taught you. Good, Hermione. Resist the urge to strangle his scrawny neck, no matter how much the bloody git deserves it.

"You mean the one that we were assigned about, oh…" she pretended to think about it for a second. "_three weeks ago_?" Ron's ears turned bright red and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah, that's the one." He muttered. Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Please help me, 'mione? Just this once?"

Hermione looked at him, trying hard to keep from giving in. She opened her mouth to declare a firm, 'No, sorry. Not this time,' but somehow, "Okay, Ronald. Just this once." came out instead.

"Thank you so much, Hermione!" Ron said gleefully. He leaned down and pecked her quickly on the cheek, his face red as a tomato when he pulled away. Hermione's cheeks a little pink, but deep down, she was disappointed.

There was nothing. No sparks. No fireworks. Not even butterflies. It's just this one time,She thought, pushing the niggling thoughts away. Next time will be different_._

"I-it's nothing." Hermione muttered, staring down at her shoes.

"Let's get a move on, then!" Ron said. Hermione nodded and followed behind him. She turned around to shut the door and stopped in her tracks. Standing there in the middle of the room staring right at her was Diggory. Hermione averted her eyes and quickly closed the door, picking up her pace to catch up with Ron.

She could've sworn that she saw a slightly hurtlook on his face before that door closed.

Hermione shook her head. There was no way. Diggory was probably still on about Cho_. _She chuckled at the absurd thought to lighten the mood, but it sounded alien and fake even to herself. She looked over her shoulder at the door just as it melded back into the wall.

This time, she wasn't sure of anything at all.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>: I should be all finished with this editing process very soon, my lovelies. Thank you for being patient with me, and I hope you like the new little things I've added.

I love you guys, and I am unbelievably thankful for each and every read, follow, favorite, and review. I wish I could have some type of party and invite all of you over to my house to enjoy a Harry Potter movie marathon with food and refreshments aplenty. That would be awesome and you guys deserve that and more. :)

Okay, enough of my sappiness. It's off to the next chapter with me!

-Caitlyn


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer**: Sadly, I'm still an American who was too young to have written the awesome Harry Potter series when they originally came out (not that I didn't read them, of course, but that's a story for another day).

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

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><p>The rest of the day was a blur, and the remainder of the week followed in a similar fashion. When the day of the scheduled Hogsmeade trip finally came around, Hermione felt as though she was functioning off of pure excitement alone – it was going to be a wonderful first date with Ron, after all!<p>

She had been feeling rather bubbly all morning, smiling at anyone and everyone she came in contact with. She was feeling so good that morning, in fact, that when Malfoy stopped her in the corridor and called her a "good-for-nothing Mudblood," she had laughed and told him that she liked the way he had done his hair that morning. His reaction was hilarious; he opened his mouth as if to give a scathing retort, closed it, opened it again, and proceeded to sputter random nonsense as she walked (with a spring in her step, might she add) away.

Needless to say, she wasn't feeling or acting like her usual mousy, bookwormish self that day.

Which probably explained why she was currently standing before the bathroom mirror brushing her hair for the umpteenth time. She was wasting precious time and she knew it, so she decided that her untamable hair wasn't the best thing to spend the majority of it on. She stared at her reflection, scrutinizing herself before letting out an agitated puff of air and plaited it quickly so she wouldn't have to worry about the frizziness and walked out of the lavatory. Ignoring the large pile of clothing that had accumulated throughout the course of the morning lying on her bed, she took her white peacoat – she had it draped over the end of the bed – and put it on, buttoning it quickly before grabbing a yellow and white striped scarf with matching gloves and a cream colored knit cap.

She walked slowly and carefully down the stairs to the common room, taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. When she stepped foot into the spacious, cozy room, she found herself alone. The fireplace was a barren, ash-filled wasteland and all was quiet without a single student besides herself in sight. Hermione took a moment to collect herself and looked out the long window on the wall closest to her.

It overlooked the grounds, which were lightly frosted with a crisp layer of snow. The early morning light shone down on it, causing it to glitter softly. The sun was beginning to show its bright, fiery head to the east, the pastel-colored hues in the sky slowly fading to an azure blue, and puffs of fluffy white clouds drifted lazily overhead at random intervals. Hermione couldn't deny the outside world's subtle, gentle beauty, and the scene helped her relax a little. It only helped for a minute.

She checked the clock on the mantel and gave a start. "Eight fifty-five already!" she exclaimed in shock. The carriages left at nine!

She made a start for the portrait hole and sprinted across the school, her braid flying behind her. She took the stairs nearly three at a time and stopped once she reached the entrance hall to catch her breath. She righted herself once her breathing was steadier and looked around, ignoring the stitch in her side. The room was completely and utterly empty.

"You have got to be kidding me," she grumbled as she walked to the doors. A bone-chilling breeze caressed her face, causing goose bumps to rise up on her arms, legs, and face as she threw the huge doors open.

She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight reflected off of the multicolored snow and squinted her eyes to peer off in the distance. The last of the students were boarding the carriages and many of them were already closing the doors. She braced herself and ran as fast as she could down the path. By the time she had reached the black thestral-drawn buggies, the last one was just beginning to set in motion.

"Wait!" she cried, trailing as quickly as her legs would carry her, flailing her arms wildly in the air. She pushed herself to speed up and she managed to catch up with the carriage. The door opened and a black gloved hand reached out, got a firm hold of the collar of her coat, and pulled her inside. She stumbled backward upon landing but just barely caught herself by reaching out and grabbing the door handle and jerking it firmly closed behind herself. She turned to see who had helped her after she had slightly calmed her racing heart down.

Sitting with a relaxed air about him was none other than Scott Logan, reclining back in the dark leather cushioned seat with his arms folded across his chest. He flashed her a joking smirk and said, "Almost missed your ride."

"I know." Hermione puffed breathlessly, taking in his attire. His hair was perfectly spiked up in the front and he wore a pair of denim jeans, sneakers, and a warm-looking black coat with his thick yellow and black striped Hufflepuff house scarf around his neck.

He gestured around the carriage to indicate the other occupants whom Hermione had not previously been aware of. "I don't think you've been acquainted, have you?" Hermione picked up on an ever-so-slight Scottish lilt accentuating his British accent. She shook her head and took a seat beside a shaggy blonde haired teenager with blue eyes. He moved over so that she could have more room beside the window in the seat across from Scott.

"Andrew McMeens, seventh year." He introduced himself, holding out his hand and giving hers a sound shake. She instantly recognized him as a Hufflepuff chaser on their house Quidditch team.

"Hermione Granger, sixth." Hermione said. Andrew gave a single nod of approval and released her hand, a pleased expression on his face. Hermione looked at the other two passengers that she hadn't properly met yet; a boy with short dark brown hair, tanned skin, and brown eyes sitting beside Scott and a petite girl with brown almond shaped eyes and long black hair on Andrew's other side.

"This," Scott clapped the male on the shoulder, "is our good friend Aiden Moretti." Aiden shook Hermione's hand a little tentatively and settled back into his seat, picking up a leatherbound notebook and pencil from the seat and doing what looked to be sketching out a picture from Hermione's point of view, based on the movements he made with his writing utensil. Scott pointed diagonally from himself at the girl, "And that's-"

"I can introduce myself, thank you very much." She snapped. She turned to Hermione and rolled her eyes in Scott's direction. "Sorry about that. He does that every time I meet someone new, like I don't know how to speak for myself."

"I understand completely," Hermione assured her, thinking of how Ron did the same thing.

"I'm Naomi Sasaki, by the way. Sixth year Hufflepuff." Naomi said. Andrew slung his arm lazily around her shoulders, drawing her to him and kissing her lightly atop her head.

"As well as Andrew's girlfriend, if you couldn't already tell." Scott said with a lopsided grin.

Naomi looked up at Andrew from where she was positioned and let out a giggle. "Took him long enough."

"You forget that a relationship works two ways, love." He said.

"Is that right?" Naomi asked, tilting her head upward to look at him. "Because if I recall correctly, the girl never does the asking, it's always the guy."

"Either way, it worked out just fine." Andrew resolved, kissing her lightly on the nose.

"Oh, would you please get a room, you two!" Aiden groaned, a hint of amusement laced into his voice.

"Not possible." Andrew replied solemnly, his blue eyes flickering from Aiden and back to Naomi. "I want to make sure that everyone knows she's all mine."

"Of course you do," Aiden countered, smiling now, "considering that it's taken you since our second year and her first for you to get her to even _look_ in your direction."

"That's not entirely true." Naomi said, defending her boyfriend. "I looked his direction all the time, just when he wasn't looking." She looked at him and winked playfully.

"Hey now," Andrew said, looking at her with a surprised expression. "You never told me that."

Naomi shrugged, a knowing smile on her face. "You never asked. Ever thought about that?"

"Well, no…"

Hermione turned and looked out the window with a small smile on her face. She was surprised at how easily she fit in with these people. Although she hadn't said much, she already felt as though she was a part of their group and she had only been with them for about fifteen minutes.

"Have you figured out who those letters were from?" Scott asked her. Hermione turned to look at him, surprised that he even remembered that.

"Yes, I have." She replied.

A look of hope came and went across his face after her answer so quickly that Hermione thought she had imagined it. "That's great." He said.

"It really is." Hermione agreed. The others had already quieted back down, Aiden having gone back to his drawing and Naomi and Andrew sitting with their hands intertwined. Scott nodded and opened his mouth to speak when the carriage came to a stop.

"We're here!" Naomi squealed, pointing out the window. Hermione looked and saw Hogsmeade's modest village just over the hill they had stopped at. She stood in one fluid, graceful movement, her hair fluttering behind her, and tugged on Andrew's hand. "Let's go!" He chuckled at his girlfriend's excitement.

"Lead the way." He said, getting to his feet and following her out of the carriage. "We'll meet up with you guys later!" He called behind them just before the door closed. Aiden bookmarked and closed his sketchbook, pocketing it along with his pencil after downsizing them and walked out the door.

Hermione and Scott were alone.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, choosing to gaze out the window at the students moving to the village and leaving their footprints behind them in the once-unblemished snow. Scott cleared his throat. "Hey," he said. Hermione turned to look at him.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted you to know that if you had anything you needed or wanted to know about…" he paused, shook his head, and then continued. "If you need someone to talk to about anything, I'd be more than happy to lend an ear."

"Good to know." Hermione said, her voice coming out in a shaky whisper. He sounded like he was hinting at something, but she wasn't sure and she certainly wasn't going to ask.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about now?" He asked.

"Well…"

Should she tell him? He was Diggory's best friend, after all. They were like brothers. He'd like to know that he was still out there in some form or fashion, wouldn't he?

"There is this one thing, actually..." She wrung her fingers in her lap.

"Really? What about?" Hermione gulped and was just about to reply when the door banged open, letting wintry wind blow around the carriage, and Aiden poked his head inside.

"You coming?" He questioned, looking in their direction with his eyebrow raised.

Scott replied after a few beats of silence, his voice full of reluctance. "Of course." He looked at Hermione and his eyes flicked to the door and back to her. "After you."

She slowly drew herself up and walked through the doorway outside. She hopped down – completely ignoring the steps built onto the carriage for easy entrance and exit – the snow crunching beneath her brown boots.

She turned, the wind whipping her hair into her face and eyes, just in time to see Scott step onto level ground and close the door. He nodded in her direction and put his gloved hands in his pockets, walking away from her with Aiden at his side. "I fancy a butterbeer or two and a few licorice wands," Aiden said. "and since we have a bit of time without the lovebirds in our midst, I believe we should spend our time wisely. Any ideas?"

"It doesn't matter." He replied. Hermione's adrenaline started pumping as she gazed on at his retreating form.

She had to tell him before he was gone.

"Hey!" Aiden said all of a sudden, pointing at something off in the distance, "I think I see Andrew and Naomi! If we hurry we'll be able to catch up with them!"

Do it now! Her conscience screamed.

"Scott, wait!" she cried impulsively, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice.

He turned and looked at her. "Go on," Scott said to his friend, "I'll catch up."

"What?" Scott called back. He was only about five feet away from her.

"What I wanted to tell you was—"

"Hermione!" Ginny's voice carried itself into her ears. Hermione let out an irritated groan. At this rate, she finally would have told him by Christmas!

Ginny trotted up and put a hand on Hermione's shoulder to steady herself while she caught her breath. "We – thought – you might've – missed the carriages." She explained between puffs.

Hermione had to let out a laugh at that one. "I almost did." It was right around that time that Ginny's eyes traveled around Hermione's back to look at Scott, who was still standing there with his eyes on Hermione, waiting patiently for her response.

Ginny righted herself instantly. "What's going on here?" She peered at Scott around Hermione's shoulder and looked at her with an arched eyebrow.

Hermione turned and looked at Scott, wishing he could sense her apology but knowing it wasn't so, and said, "Nothing."

"Uh huh…" Ginny's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Harry and Ron finally caught up at that moment.

"Found her!" Harry exclaimed.

"No way!" Ron countered, "I did first!"

"Actually I did, but that's beside the point." Ginny interrupted.

Ron spied Scott and Hermione could already see the little green monster in him coming to life. "What's he doing?"

"I was in the middle of the same question myself, Ron." Ginny said.

"Hermione, is there something we're missing here?" Harry inquired. All three pairs of eyes landed on her, awaiting her response.

"No!" Hermione said exasperatedly. "There's not. If there was, don't you think I'd have enough decency to have told you by now?"

Ron elbowed Harry lightly in the ribs. "She's got a point there, mate."

"Then please, carry on." Ginny said. There was an underlying challenge in that statement, Hermione could tell.

"I will." She replied. She turned to Scott, her heart sinking. She couldn't tell him, not here in front of her friends. And she owed it to Diggory to keep his secret because it wasn't hers to share. "I, er, just wanted to thank you."

He shrugged, but Hermione thought she could detect slight disappointment in his stance. "Like I said before, it was no problem at all."

Hermione turned back to her friends and immediately indulged them with the whole story of what she was thanking him for, why she was thanking him at all, and answering their questions, all the while ignoring that little pertinacious voice in the back of her head that whispered how terribly wrong of her it was that she had done that to him.

* * *

><p>"…so I said, 'Now your nose has no excuse for being so big!'" Ron finished with a broad grin, taking a large gulp of butterbeer.<p>

Everyone burst into laughter except Hermione. "That's horrid, Ron!" She exclaimed.

"Oh, lighten up, would you, 'mione? It was funny!"

"Funny is irrelevant. You shouldn't have slipped that Veritaserum into her pumpkin juice." Hermione reprimanded. "Whether or not she had been using a concealment charm to make her nose appear smaller is none of your business."

"You would've laughed if you were there, I promise you." Ron said. Hermione sighed and decided to drop the subject, instead opting to take a sip of her water. Her date today wasn't turning out as she had originally hoped.

She had planned a nice walk through the village while possibly holding hands, a trip to Honeydukes for some delectable sweets and candies that they might carefully feed each other, followed by the Three Broomsticks to meet up with Harry and Ginny for some good laughs over a bit of butterbeer before heading back to the castle. Instead, they'd started off at Zonko's Joke Shop, where Ron, Harry, and Ginny ran wild and tested every single new product they had and then went to the Three Broomsticks, where they had been for the past two hours.

Hermione looked at their seating arrangement. She had been the one who thought of sitting in a booth, so naturally Harry and Ginny sat on one side and she and Ron on the other.

"I need some air." Hermione grumbled, standing up and gathering her things. She buttoned up her coat and tied on her scarf. She hadn't bought a single thing this trip.

"Don't go yet, Hermione." Ron said, touching her wrist.

"I'm sorry, but I really wanted to go to Honeydukes and I don't see that happening unless I leave now." She explained, her eyes drifting toward a clock hanging on the wall. There was only about two hours until everyone was supposed to load back up and leave.

"I'll come with you, then." Ron offered, standing up. He looked across the table at Harry and Ginny. "You two good?"

"We're fine, Ron." Ginny , rolling her eyes. He picked up his jacket and put it on, zipping it up as the two of them made their way outside.

"I'm having a great time." Ron said after a few minutes of silence.

"That makes one of us." Hermione mumbled under her breath, somewhat bitter with her stale afternoon.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, frowning, Hermione was just shocked that he had even noticed she said anything at all. "We got to do everything we wanted to do today."

"Actually, Ron," Hermione said with a sigh, "we've done everything _you_ wanted to do. You never thought about trying to see what I wanted to do."

"That's not true!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, Ron, it is." She said flatly.

"No, because you—well, you've never complained before!" Ron said defensively. "You always want to do whatever I want to do. That's how it's always been, so how was I supposed to know?"

That statement shook her to her core and suddenly she was standing in a blizzard of her own making. She was so foolish to think that he would actually care about her feelings. He was Ron and she was Hermione, and there would never be a Ron _and_ Hermione. She wasn't meant to be with anyone after all, because if Ron couldn't see that she was drowning, no one ever would.

Hermione stopped walking with tears pricking the edges of her eyes. "That's right, Ron. One point to you for your astute observational skills." She spat bitterly. She looked at him angrily, her eyes swirling with tears that she refused to shed in front of him. "Did you ever consider that I didn't want to upset you by asking to do something else?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" He demanded.

Hermione could feel her face growing red, only this time it wasn't from embarrassment. It was from anger. Her tears were gone because in that moment, all she could see was her blinding rage and hurt. "You are so _dense_!" She screamed at him. "I've done nothing but chase after you ever since _first bloody year_! I do everything you ask, any time you ask me to. I always end up doing your homework for you, but that was okay, because I thought it would make you appreciate me for all of the efforts I put into this—" she threw he hands up in the air. "Whatever _this_ even is!"

He seemed to have gone mute, his mouth agape as she ranted on. Hermione could care less by that point that they had attracted a growing crowd.

"Have you ever stopped and thought about me for once, Ron? Try to think of one time where you were in a situation that you considered me and how it would make me feel, because I can guarantee that you can't! I know you can't! You're too selfish and pigheaded and rude to take the time to do that! You don't care about me, only what I can do for you! All I am to you is a ruddy doormat, for Merlin's sake, and I'm tired of it!"

"That's not true." He said slowly, his voice growing in volume.

"Oh really now? Because that's certainly not what you've demonstrated to me over the years!" Hermione shouted.

"I…" His eyes looked at something behind her before snapping back to meet her own.

He took the remainder of the distance between them in one swift stride and put his hand roughly on the back of her neck, jerking her head upward, and slammed his lips down onto hers. Pain shot through her as he crushed her face to his, her eyes overcome by blackness, and she was beginning to panic because he wasn't letting her go and his lips were smothering her mouth and her nose was smushed and Hermione did the only thing she could think of in that moment because she _couldn't breathe_.

She reared her hand back and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

He yowled in pain and stumbled backward, clutching his cheek and nursing the red handprint that had bloomed across it. The sound of her palm smacking the flesh of his cheek resounded off of the surrounding buildings. "What the hell, Hermione!" He shouted furiously, his eyes blazing. "I thought that was what you _wanted_!"

"It used to be." She said icily, her hands balled up into fists at her sides. "But not anymore. I'm done." She felt an enormous weight lift off of her shoulders as soon as she had said it.

She could see that he was reeling from her declaration. "You're…what?"

"I'm done with you." Hermione said.

"You can't do that." Ron warned her.

"Who said you were allowed to tell me what I can and can't do, Ronald?" She asked him. Her voice had finally been affected by the storm. "You aren't in control of my emotions. Not anymore."

His expression hardened into stone. "You'll realize sooner or later that you won't be able to take being away from me. When that time comes, I'll be there to tell you, 'I told you so'."

"We'll see about that." And with that, Hermione turned on her heel and marched away from Ron, leaving him to curse colorfully underneath his breath.

She held herself together until she after she had reached the Hog's Head and climbed through the passageway to Hogwarts, and then Hermione did the only thing she knew how to do when the pain came: she ran.

She lost all sense of direction after a while, up and down and left and right all coming together and getting mixed up in an indistinguishable mess. Everything around her was distorting itself beyond her recognition and she found that she couldn't understand it at all. She stopped at the beginning of a familiar corridor, clutching her burning side, and looked up. The only sound besides the crackling of the fire in the wall scones was her ragged breathing echoing off of the stone walls around her. At the end of the corridor, she saw a bare wall.

The walls were beginning to close in around her, robbing her of air and all reasonable thought and she ran down the length of the corridor, ignoring the groans of protest her body gave her in response to the motion, desperately trying to get there before she suffocated. She stopped about five feet away from it and watched as a large wooden door appeared before her. She reached out with a shaky hand and took the brass handle and threw it open, throwing herself inside the Room before it had the chance to change itself, too.

It was the only thing she could think of that was the same as it had been yesterday, and all the days before that before she even knew it was there. It was there to provide for her and care for her, much like her books except that it was, in a way, alive, and that was touching to her. The Room was her friend without ever having taken a breath or had a pulse or blinked its nonexistent eyes, a fixed, tangible thing that catered to her every need. It was exactly as she had left it before – brown walls, couches, and a glowing fire in the beautiful fireplace.

Hermione's hand gripped the front of her shirt on the left side, right where her heart was located to try to dampen its painful, throbbing beats. Her body began to sway and she took a deep breath through her nose and gripped the doorknob tighter to steady herself.

Never, ever again would she let him effect her this way, she thought, shaking her head defiantly as the tears she had kept safely tucked away at the back of her eyes began pooling to the front.

It was just then when she spied a familiar head of brown hair sitting in that same recliner before the fireplace. It turned and revealed a familiar handsome face, smiling warmly at her. "It's good to see you again, Granger." He said, and then stopped. Her bottom lip quivered and the tears kept building and building, the ache in her chest becoming too much to bear.

She pulled the door shut to try to distract herself. It clicked softly behind her. "Granger?" She looked up and saw the concern written all over his face, in his body language, and she couldn't take it anymore.

A heart-wrenching sob tore through her throat and she put her face in her hands, stray tendrils of hair falling around her face. Tears slid quickly into her palms and through the cracks between her fingers and trailed down her arms and neck. "Stop calling me Granger," she cried, lifting her face from her hands and looking at him. She was a mess of frizzy curls and tears and wide, watery brown eyes. "I'm Hermione," she told him forcefully, as if he didn't already know, "just Hermione."

Yes, just Hermione. Plain, unattractive, unwanted _Hermione_. She put her face in her hands and slumped into a pathetic lump on the floor, her eyes refusing to stop crying and her body wracking with unending, pitiful sobs. She was a poor excuse of a woman and she knew it and so did Ron. That was why he didn't want her, not really, but he felt obligated to make her feel somewhat likable which made her feel worse than she already did.

Who was she to think that anyone would ever try to reach her, really reach her? No one with any sense would even attempt to push through the frozen, icy blasts of her loneliness just to gather her up and whisper softly into her hair that she was loved.

Hermione shook her head roughly and continued to cry harder than she ever had before.

All she wanted, all she had ever wanted, was some form of acknowledgement that she meant something to someone besides a used and abused walking textbook or someone who could finish their homework. She desperately needed someone to look at her as if she were actually somewhat pretty, someone who would kiss her troubles away and hold her and make her feel beautiful for once in her life.

Even the night of the Yule Ball, after she had undergone a transformation into a wizard's version of Cinderella, she knew all along that when the night was over that her carriage would turn back into pumpkins and her dress would become rags once more, but no prince would come after her with her missing shoe because she was still _Hermione_ and that didn't happen to her. Hermione did not have a Prince Charming.

She felt something quietly hit the floor a few inches from her and looked up from her hands, sniffling. A box of tissues sat prepared and ready to go. She looked to her left and met Diggory's gray eyes. She blinked slowly and a few more tears slipped out of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. "Thanks," she whispered, stuttering a little through her jagged breaths, her voice slightly congested.

"You needed them, so the Room gave them to you." He said just as quietly. Hermione nodded, sniffing again and reached for a tissue. She blew her nose into it and tossed it into a garbage bin that had appeared beside her. She took a few more and did the same, horrified by the disgusting sound it made but putting it aside for the moment considering the circumstances. "Do you feel like talking about it?" He inquired.

Unlike Ron, Diggory was politely asking if she wanted to indulge him, rather than forcefully yelling at her to.

"I'd like that." Hermione murmured, her voice raw and raspy from crying.

"Come on, then." He smiled gently at her and stood up, extending a hand to her. Hermione looked at it tentatively.

"I don't think…" Hermione trailed off doubtfully.

"Trust me." He stated softly. The whole situation made Hermione remember the last time they had been in that same position earlier that week. She remembered her hesitance and how Ron burst in and dragged her off. Now there was no Ron.

_Take his hand, Hermione. _Her conscience murmured in her ear, _He won't hurt you. He's not like Ron._

Hermione finally reached her hand toward his own. She drew closer and closer, waiting for her fingers to pass through his, and then the oddest sensation she had ever felt passed through her from her fingertips down to her toes.

Her eyes widened when she realized that her palm was resting on his fingertips. His hand was deathly cold. It made goosebumps rise all over her body, sending chills down her spine. It was a new feeling to her. She closed her hand around his and he did the same, using their clasped hands to pull her up and then releasing her hand. "How was that even possible?" Hermione whispered in wonderment, staring down at her hand._  
><em>

"You know," Diggory replied, shrugging, "I'm not completely sure myself." He led her over to the couch and they both sat on either end. "Are you sure you want to talk about it?"

"Yes," Hermione said, sniffling, "I want to. It's better to talk about it with you, since Harry and Ginny wouldn't understand."

He nodded encouragingly and before long the story of the whole day came tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could control, from all the time and effort she put into getting ready (including changing her outfit at least twenty-five times, which was very unlike herself), to her surreal experience with Scott (he laughed when she told him about Naomi and Andrew. He said, "He'd been after her since he saw her step onto the stage for her Sorting but was too shy to do anything about it!"), to her argument with Ron and how it ended up. Her chest was heaving and her anger from earlier had come back full force.

"I just can't believe he'd do that! He can be such an arrogant git sometimes that I wonder who's worse – him or Malfoy!" she finished.

"He wasn't ready yet, I suppose." Cedric mused.

"Wasn't _ready_? Really? So you're defending him, now?" Hermione questioned, narrowing her eyes at him in an incriminating glare and crossing her arms.

"No, I'm not." He answered honestly. His eyes shone with sincerity as he looked at her, and she knew that he wasn't lying. "It seems to me that Weasley's finally started to figure out that he likes you, and now that you've laid all of your feelings out for him he didn't know what to do about it. I'm not saying that what he did was right. There was no justification for that – he shouldn't have done that to you. I think what you did was right and he deserved every bit of it."

Hermione let all of her breath out in a long _whoosh_, dispelling her accusation with it. "But that still doesn't explain why I felt that way afterward." She murmured. She gave him a hopeless look. "Why _did _I feel like that?"

"I can't really give you a proper explanation because it's something that only you can figure out." He said. Hermione's heart sank and she stared at her lap. _Great. _"However," she looked up at him again curiously. "I think that you've been let down. You spent all these years building him up to perfection in your subconscious mind and turning every little thing he's done into a glorious achievement and you've finally realized that he's nothing like you hoped."

Hermione turned to look at the fire, contemplating what he had said.

She had known since she was eight years old when the boy she'd held a torch for in elementary school had cruelly laughed in her face when she told him about her feelings and ridiculed her endlessly for it for months afterward that she was most likely never going to be in a relationship. But once she had gotten to Hogwarts and seen the magic of it all, she had hope that, perhaps, she would find love after all. And when a starry-eyed eleven-year-old Hermione Granger met an eleven-year-old Ronald Weasley, she didn't quite know what to do with herself once she realized that the little flutters in her stomach weren't exactly out of friendship. She knew that he was stubborn and obnoxious and always talked with his mouth full, but he was about as good as it got for her, and that was enough. He was a fierce Quidditch keeper and a strong partner in a wand-dueling match.

She had taken all of his insults and fights, had watched him frolic with a handful of other girls while trying to tie down her lunch, and had helped him all of those times with his work because she thought it would make him see how much she cared.

She thought, she thought, she thought. So many things she had thought would come from her patience with Ron, but ultimately _she thought_ wrong.

"You're right." She whispered after a few minutes.

"What?"

"You're right," she repeated, turning to look at Diggory, "he's not like I hoped. I pictured him as this great, sweet, funny guy who'd put everything on the line for the people he cares most about. And it's true, he can certainly be all of those things, but I guess I was just so bent on becoming one of those people to him that…" she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

_Here's your book. ...Were you expecting something else?_

_You have to come Great Hall and sit with me for breakfast before it gets too full. We have that Charms essay due today, remember?_

_You always want to do whatever I want to do. That's how it's always been, so how was I supposed to know?_

_I thought that was what you _wanted_!_

_You'll realize sooner or later that you won't be able to take being away from me._

Hermione Jean Granger, she thought finally, you are a stupid, foolish woman for letting such a wretched boy get so far under your skin._  
><em>

You brought this upon yourself.

That was what you _wanted_. His voice, again, crept into her mind, hissing venomously in her ear.

Was it? Was it really what she had wanted? She had always had innocent ambitions of trying to get a boy to want her. Where was the crime in that? What had she done to deserve things to go so awry?

"I started to ignore all the other things he did. He's done his fair share of bad things, I would know. He's backstabbed me and used me and…I overlooked it all because I thought…" she could feel herself getting choked up again.

No, Hermione. Don't do this again. No more tears for him. Do it for yourself, because you're better off without him._  
><em>

"You thought he'd feel the same about you if you did." Diggory finished for her.

Hermione blinked quickly, forcing her tears to recess back into their rightful tear ducts. "Yeah," she said, "I did."

Diggory looked at her straight in her eyes. There was a natural shine in them that had nothing to do with the fire; it was all him. Hermione's eyes gazed upon his face with a newfound interest. She had never really stopped and gave him a good look until that moment – it was as if he had just come fully into perspective to her.

She noticed then that he had a few lightly colored, tiny freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes; how his hair parted on the left side when she thought it had always been at the right; how his hair wasn't brown at all, how it was really just dark blonde with natural brown and red highlights in it.

Diggory was Diggory and Ron was Ron. His eyes were a light grey, not deep blue. She knew it, but she had never acknowledged it. And suddenly, she decided she liked grey better anyway.

The comparison was done.

"So," Diggory said, his deep, soothing tones reaching Hermione's ears and pulling her from her train of thoughts before they could get any farther, "do you feel better now?"

"A little," Hermione said slowly, meaningfully. She continued in the same manner, each word filled with purpose as she looked at Diggory, "but I'll be just fine for now."

He nodded and turned his head to look at the fire. Hermione's eyes trailed down to his body and widened ever so slightly at something she had yet to notice before. Where before the place where the Hogwarts emblem had been smudged beyond recognition, was now replaced by a small hole, roughly the width of the tip of a pencil's rubber eraser. She could see straight through him without his translucent form in the way. It reminded her of how a piece of paper looked with a hole burnt out of the middle; the edges of the gap were shaped asymmetrically in the same way, jagged and twisted.

"It's gone." He said quietly.

Hermione's face reddened in embarrassment at having been caught staring at him, though she didn't understand why that was. Diggory's eyes were transfixed upon the flames as he spoke. "It was getting fainter and fainter until a few days ago when this tiny hole appeared."

"I'll find a cure." Hermione said all of a sudden. She felt as though she needed to, as though he had to have that reassurance.

He let out a humorless chuckle and looked at her with a sad expression. "I don't think it'll be that simple."

"It will!" She argued, stubbornly set on the idea. "I'll read all the books in the library if I have to. I _will _find out what's happening to you and stop it."

"Thank you." He said, his lips pulling up into a warm smile. "I mean it."

Hermione grinned softly at him. "I know you do," She said, "and you're welcome." They fell into a companionable silence for a long while, neither saying a word. Just simply _being_.

Being in each others' company, no words necessary to fill the void between them because it wasn't uncomfortable. They were two teenagers who were lost within themselves in their own ways, and sometimes it's better to be lost with someone else, regardless of whether or not they're lost in the same way as you. It brings solace to your soul just knowing that someone else understands you silently, softly, without ever uttering a breath to validate it.

For a precious second, she was more than just _Hermione_, she was _just_ Hermione, and that was enough.

"So, Just Hermione," he said, drawing her attention to him. He had a smile on his face and she couldn't help but return it. "Is it acceptable that I can be Just Cedric?"

She laughed and nodded, and then he was Cedric instead of Diggory.

* * *

><p>As soon as she left the Room of Requirement, she made a beeline to the library. She scoured the shelves for any sort of lead and buried herself in books. By the time she left (Madam Pince had to force her to leave almost three hours after closing time), she had a good layer of dust coating her hands and nose.<p>

The following week, she headed straight to the library when she had free time and did her research. Pretty soon, one week turned into two, two into three, and so on until nearly four months had gone by. On weekends, she woke at the crack of dawn and read till dusk, hardly ever pausing to take a break or even stand up and stretch.

She had successfully avoided Ron all of that time.

Instead, she would spend her days in the library with Cedric. Their friendship had blossomed quickly – he had become one of her best friends in a short period of time. They joked around and talked about everything under the moon.

He provided both stimulating conversations and thought-provoking debates about certain subjects for her, and he had even been doing some Quidditch coaching with her. He told her all about his family and his friends, and she him as well. He was working his way into Hermione's life faster than anyone ever had, and she didn't know what to do about it.

He taught her something she never thought was possible for her. Cedric taught Hermione how to be completely herself around someone else without worrying about how they'd judge her. She had always felt as though she had to be the smart, analytical girl for everyone all the time, including both her parents and dearest friends, but he helped her see that she didn't need to do all of that. She could be whoever she wanted when she was with him, could express all of her opinions and ideas without a worrying about him throwing a fit about it.

It was what she needed, and, though she hadn't realized it yet, it was given to her by the person she needed most.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>: The "just Hermione" and "just Cedric" thing is new, but I like it. I think it flows better than it used to. What do you think? Also, I'm so glad Ron's out of the picture now. Makes things so much better without him constantly mucking things up. But don't worry, he'll come back...eventually...

-Caitlyn


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: **I wish I could claim the _Harry Potter_ series as my own, but sadly, I can't.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

* * *

><p>Things with Ron had settled down a little bit after the coming and going of the Christmas holidays.<p>

As per usual, Hermione was invited to the Burrow by Mrs. Weasley, who had strongly suggested that Ronald be on his best behavior. Now that the anger of the whole incident in Hogsmeade had subsided nearly three months after the fact, they had gotten used to the routine of treating each other with courteous detachment when in the presence of their friends. After all, the fight would've torn the group apart had Ron's and Hermione's feelings of resentment gone on any further, forcing all of their friends to have to choose sides to a losing battle on both of their parts.

Despite all of this, however, it still didn't quell Hermione's feelings of unease at the prospects of spending time with their friends. Now that her friendship with Ron was completely obliterated, it made everything complicated and awkward, starting with breakfast in the Great Hall. Every moment she spent with her friends reminded her of the past with Ron; what they could have been and her disappointment about what they had become. She realized that she was at a standstill at the center of a fork in the road of her life; would she rather be constantly badgered by the past or move on and live in the present and future?

She knew that moving forward was the only way in this situation.

* * *

><p><em>Three months and two weeks earlier<em>

Hermione pushed through the Great Hall doors with puffy red eyes and tearstained cheeks. Her hair was a mess of frizzy curls since she hadn't felt quite up to styling it that morning, a decision she was beginning to regret. She ignored the matter, though, choosing to keep moving in the direction of her friends. People whispered and turned heads; no one seemed able to believe what had happened between Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley in Hogsmeade two days prior. Hermione held her head high and threw her shoulders back and chose to ignore them.

After what seemed like five geological ages later, she arrived at the section of the Gryffindor table where she usually sat with Harry, Ginny, and R-_him_. Hermione had forced herself not to think about him.

She scowled when she saw that her seat was occupied. She glared at Ron and then looked to Harry and Ginny for help. They didn't even notice, too busy laughing and talking animatedly with the girl who was sitting beside _him_. Hermione couldn't see her face but she was perfectly capable of identifying her surrogate as Lavender Brown. Lavender had styled her dishwater blonde hair completely straight with a medium-sized red flower in it that pulled a section of it off to the side, and Hermione would've commented that it was "cute" had she not so rudely taken her seat.

Everyone, and Hermione did mean _everyone_, at the Gryffindor table knew that that was _her _place.

"Oh, well, er, good morning, Hermione." Ginny said reluctantly, having finally noticed Hermione. Hermione forced her face to smooth itself back out before speaking.

"Where am I going to sit?" She asked in a strained voice. "I don't see a seat anywhere."

Lavender turned around and gave her a genuinely apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I could move, if you'd-"

"That," Ron interrupted, slinging his arm loosely around Lavender's shoulders as he turned around, "won't be necessary. She should've come sooner."

"Ron!" Ginny reprimanded, shooting him a glare. She looked back at Hermione. "We're really sorry, Hermione. We saved you a seat like we usually do, but Lav wanted to sit with Ron and we didn't think to say anything…" Hermione's brain was flying at a dangerous speed.

"Lav"? They had never referred to Lavender bloody Brown as "Lav" before! What was happening?

Hermione gave them a fake smile and straightened her posture even more so than before. "It's fine. I'll just go eat with some of my other friends instead."

It was Ron's turn to be surprised. "Your other friends? What do you mean 'other friends'?" He asked her suspiciously.

"I mean exactly what I said, Ron." Hermione stated, her voice cool and emotionless. "I have friends besides you guys, believe it or not."

"Whatever." Ron said before he turned around and began – literally – stuffing his face in an extremely uncivilized fashion.

"We'll make sure to have more room tomorrow, 'mione." Harry promised, his eyes shining with his hopes that the bitter war between Hermione and Ron would die down soon.

"Okay," Hermione said, giving him a tight smile.

She began walking away slowly at first but the closer she got to the doors the faster her pace became. Her eyes were already swimming with tears by the time she reached the door and she had to use all of her might to hold them in; she was _so tired _of crying about Ron's pathetic self.

She headed to the library for some peace and quiet as well as to get some more research done and soon enough she was tucked away in her favorite little alcove in the far corner of the library with a book in her hands. She heard sound of brisk footsteps close by.

"Hermione?"

"Over here." She replied, carefully folding down the top corner of the page she was on before closing the book and looking up at her intruder with astonishment. "Scott, what are you doing here?" she questioned as soon as he was visible to her. He pulled out the chair across from her at the round wooden table and sat down.

"I saw what happened at breakfast." He explained.

"Oh," Hermione said quietly, looking down at the crumbling edge of the thick book's front cover and picking absently at the loose threads. "That."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Scott asked.

"Well…" she trailed off.

"That's okay, I won't force you." Scott said. Hermione looked up at him and saw him eyeing the large stacks of books around her curiously. "Why do you need all of these books?"

"Research." Hermione blurted and then froze. She couldn't believe she had just said that. She was reeling from the information she had just revealed to him, praying to Merlin that he wouldn't ask –

"What are you researching?" Hermione flinched. Too late.

"Um…" she bit her lip and searched for an answer.

Say something! Anything!

"You see, I'm, er…writing this, uh…research paper…about…" she glanced around frantically for a word or a phrase that she could use to finish her sentence and gave a small sigh of relief at catching the title of a book. "It's a research paper about dark spells and their counter curses." She finished.

"That sounds interesting!" He smiled. "What class is it for?"

Hermione mentally facepalmed.

Really, Scott? Really?

"Err…Defense Against the…Dark Arts…?"

"That's cool. Maybe you could lend me your final copy sometime."

"Maybe so," Hermione said, uneasy about the fact that she had just lied to her newfound acquaintance. They sat in silence for a little while before Scott spoke.

"You can sit with us, you know." He said.

"What?" Hermione asked, confused.

"You can come and sit with us in the Great Hall during mealtime." Scott elaborated. "We have plenty of room."

She blinked, surprised. "You're serious?"

"Of course," he smiled.

"That'd be great. Thank you!" Hermione beamed at him, which he returned in kind.

"You're welcome." They talked for a bit longer before parting ways and heading to their first classes of the day.

From then on, every meal Hermione ate after that was spent among the Hufflepuffs.

* * *

><p><em>Present<em>

"I can't believe that!" Hermione exclaimed through peals of laughter, clutching her stomach. "You really did that?" She was currently seated on one end of the brown couch in the Room of Requirement.

Cedric chuckled at her antics from the other side of the couch. "Stupid, I know, but true." He grinned widely at the memory. "We did some pretty idiotic things together, I must admit."

Hermione's smile fell a little as she detected the bittersweet sadness woven into his voice. "You really do miss all of this," she gestured around, "don't you?"

Cedric's smile slipped off of his face and he sighed. "I do." He said softly.

"Scott misses you, too, for the record." Hermione murmured quietly.

Cedric smiled softly as he looked up at her. "I know."

"I just thought you wanted to know, is all." Hermione explained.

"Thank you, Hermione." Cedric said softly. All of a sudden, his grin was back full force. "I haven't told you about the time we accidently blew up the Potions classroom, have I?"

"I have a bad feeling about this story…" Hermione trailed off, a smile sliding its way back onto her face and widening as she waited in anticipation for him to continue. His eyes lit up as they always did when he got excited and he used animated gestures as he recounted the event. Before long, they were both doubled over all over again.

Once everything had died down and the last of Hermione's gleeful tears dried up, they were sprawled out on the thick woven rug at the hearth before the fire, Hermione resting her elbows comfortably on a pillow. She placed her cheek on her fist and looked over at Cedric, biting her lip as she tried to decide whether or not to ask about something that had been bugging her a lot lately. She remembered that time when he was beginning to open up to her and tried telling her about how he died and she had fainted. She wanted to know, but she didn't want to force him to talk about it if he wasn't ready.

She blew at that annoying stray lock of hair at her forehead in an attempt to dispel it, but it fell right back into place just as it usually did. Hermione ignored it and was just about to open her mouth to speak when she realized how content he looked. He was on his back facing at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head and his eyes closed. Hermione's eyes softened looking at him.

She examined his face: the way his dark lashes fanned out around his eyes, the curve of his jaw, and the shape of his nose and lips. He looked angelic, almost_. _She frowned ever so slightly at the corners of her lips at that thought. _Almost. _

He looked so peaceful and yet…

So sad.

"Hermione?" Cedric's summons hung in the air around them, ringing quietly off the walls.

"Yes?" She replied softly, folding her arms over each other on the pillow and laying her head down into the crook of her arm, still facing him. He turned his head to the side and opened his deep molten silver eyes to look at her.

"Do you still want to know?" His voice was serious and nearly inaudible, but Hermione still heard it. She knew that he was referring to the very thing she had wanted to talk about.

"Of course I do, but I don't want to force you to talk about it if you don't want to." She answered honestly.

"I'm fine." He assured her. He whispered beneath his breath just loud enough for her to make it out, "It's you I'm worried about."

"Don't," Hermione told him. "I'm okay."

"If you're absolutely positive..."

"I promise, Ced." Her eyes widened as the nickname slipped from her lips, and she could've sworn she'd seen his eyes widen slightly for a moment. She had never called him by that before. A flicker of what she swore she thought was a smile flitted onto and off of his face and he turned his head back to face the ceiling.

"Okay." Cedric closed his eyes. "When I first had the thought that I was…" he paused and Hermione held her breath.

Was he still unable to say it now, even after all this time has passed?

"When I first thought I was dead," he started again, "I had just opened my eyes. I didn't know where I was or how much time had passed, but I just knew. I sat up and found myself surrounded by fog. I soon discovered that I couldn't move, so I stayed where I was. That was fine with me, anyway; I was too scared to do much of anything. I waited for the fog to clear and saw the empty Triwizard Tournament stands, and behind me stood the looming maze."

He stared blankly into the fire for a moment, lost in his memories. Hermione felt a pang in her heart for him and the pain she could do nothing to help heal.

"I didn't know what to do, and I remember thinking, 'Should I run or should I stay put and see what happens?'" He shook his head and sighed. "I wanted to run with everything I had but I couldn't. It was like I was held there by some invisible force. I couldn't move or speak for a while. But suddenly everything blended itself together and then I was falling into a dark abyss." He stopped for a second, his brows drawn together in thought, before continuing, "I don't know how long I was falling, just that it was deep and dark and seemingly never-ending. I was scared out of my wits by that point and all I wanted to do was open my eyes and realize that it was all just a bad dream. I knew it was a foolish thing to do – get my hopes up like that, I mean – but it seemed like the only rational thought running through my jumbled mind at that moment."

He ran a hand over his face, sighing again.

Hermione could tell it was beginning to get hard for him to go on. so, _so _I wanted nothing more than revenge. I was filled with hatred and loathing and bitterness because I couldn't accept the fact that I couldn't wake up."

He looked down at his lap, shaking his head.

"That's when I started thinking about everything I had lost, and how it had never been a choice given to me about whether I'd get to keep it or not. I decided that I would seek out Pettigrew and make him feel how I felt, even if it didn't do much other than make him a little more timid than he already was." Guilt briefly flashed across his face followed by anger and Hermione wanted to help smooth the wrinkles on his forehead but she could do nothing but listen. "I-I wanted him to suffer so badly." Cedric's hands were balled into tight fists and he clenched his jaw. His brow was a tightly knit line. "But…but I…"

"If it's too hard for you, you don't have to keep going." Hermione whispered, her eyes pricked at the corners with tears at seeing his evident pain.

"No, I _will _finish." He declared. He looked at her. "If we can't find a way to fix this, I want at least someone to know what happened. I need to do this."

"I understand." She murmured gently. "Go on whenever you're ready."

Cedric nodded and sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I wanted Pettigrew to understand how much he made me hurt and I wanted to unleash that pain upon him tenfold."

Hermione was shocked by the darkness that Cedric was describing. She couldn't imagine him being so angry. Picturing him so lost and scared and angry made her eyes water even more. He had gone through so much pain alone.

I saw what he was really like. I had heard stories about him, you see, about what a pathetic man he was, and I realized with one look at him that they were true. He was a pitiful excuse of a man, cowering in the corner of the room I found him in, quivering in fear. He was alone, the only person in the entire abandoned house out somewhere in the middle of England."

His voice quivered as he continued, "When I saw him and I saw what he was, I knew I couldn't inflict that kind of pain on him. He may be some of the lowliest scum on the face of this planet, but he was already a broken man controlled by the will of someone else. He seemed like he was already past the kind of suffering I was going through and even though I hated him so much I could hardly see straight, I decided that it just wasn't worth the time or effort to do that to him." He stopped talking and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose and exhaling it slowly.

Hermione could see the shame that had settled into his posture and decided that she needed to speak up to save him from withdrawing deep inside himself.

"I'm proud of you for that," she whispered, her eyes shining with sincerity. Cedric opened his eyes and stared at her, a look of awe and shock on his face.

"Why?" His voice sounded so small and for a moment, he looked like a lost child that needed to be comforted by his mother.

Hermione's expression softened. "Because you've got more willpower than any other person I've ever met, that's why. You wanted to do who knows what to Pettigrew, but instead, you decided that the damage he'd done to himself was enough. I mean, if I had been in your place…" She shook her head before looking at him. "Well, if it had been me, I don't know if I would've chosen that."

His expression changed suddenly. "Of course you would've." Cedric argued, and it was Hermione's turn to be shocked. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Hermione. You are a compassionate, selfless person. You're a _good _person. You wouldn't have hurt him."

"That's not entirely true." Hermione started uneasily. "I'm not a perfect person. I make mistakes. I _do _hurt people –"

"Only when it's necessary." He interrupted. "Think about it. You only hurt others after they hurt you first. You always have a reason for it, too. Something that makes perfect sense."

"You had a perfectly good reason for why you wanted to hurt Peter Pettigrew, Cedric!" Hermione half-shouted at him as if it would get it through his stubborn head. She brought her voice down to a calmer tone as she said, "That's what I'm trying to tell you! He killed you, and you had every right to feel what you felt."

Cedric didn't say anything, simply stared at her with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I guess…" he scrutinized her for a few more seconds, his eyes flitting over every feature of her face, "I guess you're right."

She found herself staring into his eyes contentedly, watching interestedly as the warm glow returned to their depths.

A thought crossed her mind and she could feel herself putting it into words somewhere far away. It felt like she were miles away from her body, that it was just her and Cedric and staring into his eyes and getting lost in them before starting to lean forward and…

His lips moved. They formed words: a response, she was sure, to her question. It took her a few moments to gather herself back together and refocus. "I'm sorry, what?"

He chuckled. "You asked me what I did next."

Hermione mentally face palmed. "Right," she muttered beneath her breath. "Well?"

"There's not much to tell." He shrugged. "I tried to figure out a way to come back on my own but it didn't work, so then I tried going to a few people and that didn't work either. And, well, that's when I found you." He summarized.

Hermione couldn't help but think that there was something vague about his story, like he was leaving something out.

"Who did you go to?" Hermione asked. "Before me, I mean. You mentioned something about that." she added hastily.

"As you can imagine, I went to all the people I trusted." He said. "First, I tried Professor Dumbledore, but that obviously didn't work. Then I went to my mom and dad, Scott, Andrew…"

Hermione put two and two together to figure out who he left out. "And Cho Chang." Cedric looked down and she knew she was right.

Hermione pictured what he'd look like if he'd have blushed. She wondered if his cheeks have turned red like hers or if the tips of his ears would turn scarlet like Ron? Or, perhaps, she considered that maybe he'd blush like Harry at the back of his neck and then it traveled to his face.

"Yes, I did." He said. "I went to Professor Dumbledore and from there straight to her. She was really smart so I figured she'd know something."

"She still is." Hermione murmured.

She felt awkward all of a sudden, something she hadn't ever felt before with Cedric, and inadequate. She felt out of place there with him at that moment, wondering if he wished Cho was there instead of her.

He probably did_,_ her mind spoke up.

Hermione's heart flew up to her throat, making it harder for her to breathe.

No, don't think like that, her conscience chided. She was there for a reason and she couldn't forget that. In the end he picked her instead of Cho_._

Not so strangely enough, her internal pep-talk wasn't helping her mood one bit.

"Hey, Cedric, I need to go do some research." Hermione said, tears filling her eyes without warning. She stood up and quickly made her way over to the door and slipped into her shoes and picked up her backpack, slinging it onto her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" He inquired worriedly. Hermione's fingers trembled on the doorknob and she bit her lip to keep from letting the tears spill out.

"I'm fine." She managed to answer quietly. Her voice was surprisingly steady. She opened the door and walked out into the corridor.

And right before the door clicked shut, had she been in a clearer state of mind, she probably would've sworn she heard him say, "I'm glad it was you instead."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: <em>Hi, everyone! I would firstly like to apologize for my extremely long, unforgivable absence from this story. I've gotten side-tracked because of school and other stories I've come up with that have yet to even be posted that I've gotten away from this one. I really do love this one; I like writing these characters and the story. So even though it does seem like it, I am not giving up on this story. The more complicated version as to why I haven't been on is best summarized as this: I've had to study for my EOCs (end of course tests. They're terrible! And two of them happen to be next week on Monday and Tuesday.. -_- ), I've had UIL competitions all this week (pat on the back for me! I got third place in one competition and fifth in the other! I get to go to Regionals! Yay! :D), went on a cruise all spring break (last week), and have been swamped with homework. You guys know how it gets, I'm sure… So anyways, thanks for listening (err…reading?) to my long list of (You guys: *cough* excuses! *cough* Me: Whoa, there!) reasons why I haven't been able to write. I can't make any promises that I'll be more frequent now but all I can say is that I'll try. I'll be working on the next chapter as soon as I get this one posted, so it should be up pretty soon.

By the way, all of you who've reviewed, it's greatly appreciated! I hope you'll like this chapter enough to review on it as well. (wink wink, nudge nudge)

So…like it? Hate it? Please tell me what you thought! Virtual hugs for everyone who reviews!

-Caitie Manda


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: **Hey, in case you got your hopes up between the last chapter and this one, Harry Potter still isn't mine.

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

* * *

><p>Hermione made a beeline for the library and was soon nestled in her little nook, staring blankly at a random page with watery eyes. She re-read the same sentence at least ten times, but after finding that she couldn't absorb the content she closed it.<p>

Sitting in there, alone, gave her time to reflect upon what had happened in the Room with Cedric. Everything had been just fine until Cho Chang's name came up.

She clamped down on the inside of her cheek to keep her tears in their tear ducts. She had been his girlfriend before he got murdered. It was none of Hermione's business what went on in his love life, anyway.

Her heartbeat stuttered for a moment and for a second she couldn't take a breath.

She really didn't care.

_But you do, _her conscience whispered softly.

No. He was only her friend and that was that, Hermione thought with a frown.

_Deny it all you want, but you can't ignore what you feel._

Hermione's heart thudded in her chest and her throat constricted as a knot began to form inside. She started blinking rapidly to disperse her tears, but they kept building, resulting in further blurring her vision.

Hermione shook her head forcefully, unintentionally allowing a few tears to leak out. No, she thought, roughly rubbing the back of her sleeve across her cheeks to angrily wipe the salty wetness away. She couldn't let herself think like that. It was illogical.

"Oh, this is just ridiculous!" She muttered. Her tears dried as frustration set in. "Of all the things to get upset about, this is the most childish and nonsensical."

Even as she said it, however, she couldn't ignore the seed of doubt that planted itself in her mind, murmuring softly that she knew it wasn't true.

But how could she care? He was a _ghost_, for Merlin's sake! It wasn't possible, let alone reasonable! Besides that, a relationship with him would be unrealistic.

Besides that one freak incident all those months ago, she couldn't even touch him. How would it ever work out if they couldn't hold hands? Hug?

...Kiss?

Hermione colored a deep shade of red at the idea, and the fact that it wasn't from immaturity made her blush deepen. Her face turned a deep shade of burgundy at how appealing it sounded to her - kissing him.

All of a sudden, her imagination ran away with her –

_Herself and Cedric sitting by the fire, cuddling and talking away at all hours of the night –_

_Herself and Cedric strolling across the castle grounds hand-in-hand on a fair-weathered day –_

_Herself getting lost in his eyes, leaning closer and closer until his lips were barely a hairsbreadth away –_

"_No!_" she exclaimed, jerking herself from her startling thoughts. She ducked her head right after, blushing in embarrassment at the particularly loud chorus of shushes she received in response to her loud outburst.

Her heart was galloping at a racehorse's speed in her chest, her breathing ragged and uneven.

As she took in deep gulps of air to calm herself back down, she wondered, still slightly horrified by herself, Where did that come from?

She was ashamed to admit that despite the fact that she didn't know, she was not regretful.

* * *

><p>Going back to Gryffindor tower was a tedious task if one was coming from the library.<p>

She had thirty minutes until she was supposed to be up there for curfew, in the common room at least, but with the teetering stack of books in her arms her hopes of making it in time were quickly beginning to diminish. She readjusted her arms around her large bounty of thick, dusty old volumes – six in all, each weighing, Hermione guessed, about three or four kilograms each. It didn't seem like much individually, but all together that equaled around eighteen to twenty-four kilograms, which put a killer strain on her arms and lower back.

Luckily, she was accustomed to this sort of pain; something that was a bit of a blessing since she carried books just like these all the time.

She finally reached the portrait hole, and just in time, too – the tall wooden grandfather clock in the common room let out its familiar deep, three note run as she stepped through. It was a Friday night, and most of the Gryffindors were down in the common room; not that _that _was much of a surprise.

Two or three different games of Wizard's Chess were going on simultaneously around the room, in their customary corners, and a few groups of students had started up games of Exploding Snap on the floor. She spotted Ron and Harry, sitting on one of the couches, Ginny on the other, talking every now and again. Their conversation didn't really seem to be going anywhere.

As Hermione stared on, she realized something. No matter how much had gone on, she needed to move on. She hadn't cut off all ties with her friends, but things just weren't as easy as they used to be since they began talking again, off and on over the past couple of months. And as she looked at each of their faces, she saw something in common between them.

Frown lines etched into the corners of their mouths, as if they had all been doing so a lot recently, and dark bags under their eyes from lack of sleep. They didn't seem as happy anymore, now that she really stopped and thought about it. And while her Hufflepuff friends were great, these people were the ones she had grown up alongside for the past six years. She had spent holidays with them, gone on courageous adventures with them. Heck, she could even throw in that bit about being a part of the Golden Trio!

The point was that she realized that they must miss her, too, the same way she missed them. So she slowly, ever so slowly, made her way over to them.

Ron was the first to notice, looking up as her shuffling feet drew closer.

He let out a gasp of surprise but choked it down too late; Hermione had heard it and offered him a small smile of encouragement in return. Harry saw her just after, his green eyes locking with hers for a moment and sparkling with pure joy for the first time in a while, his lips tugging up at the corners, but only a tenth of a second before Ginny. Ginny's blue eyes sparked and brightened immediately and she looked as though it was taking everything she had to keep from jumping up hugging her to death.

They were all so shocked that no one, not a single one of the three sitting, said a word.

Hermione set down her books beside the couch, and straightened herself. Waiting.

Harry was the one to break the silence. "Hermione," he hesitated for a moment but caught himself, his eyes speaking volumes that his voice could not convey. Guilt. Shame. "We're…we're all really, truly sorry."

Hermione stood there before them, looking over each of them. They all had the same emotions written on their faces; Ron's eyes were downcast, staring unseeingly at the floor, his knuckles clenched tightly in his lap. Ginny's hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers twisting and tugging on each other. The moment dragged on for a few more beats of silence, long enough for Hermione to realize that they were waiting for her to speak. Her eyes softened as she looked at them.

"I forgive you." She whispered finally, "All of you." Ron's eyes flickered upward, locking onto her face, her eyes, as if searching for a reason not to believe her. His tense body relaxed a little, so Hermione guessed he found it. Harry gave a small, nearly undetectable sigh of relief, but Hermione heard it. Still, she was waiting. She looked at Ginny, the only one who had yet to react.

After what seemed like hours of silence, Ginny spoke, her voice soft and gentle. "Come on, Hermione. I saved you a seat." She patted the empty cushion beside her and Hermione smiled gratefully before obligingly without a single word of protest.

Even after all this time_… _

She looked around at all of her childhood friends, taking in the way things fell right back into how they used to be.

They were still there for her.

She was crying now, but this time it was with happiness as she let loose peals of laughter with her friends as they exchanged stories the way they always had.

They discussed everything that had happened over the past few months – they'd talked here and there in classes and such, but speaking as freely as this among each other had felt so uncomfortable before. Additionally, the thought of having anything to do with Ronald had been too unbearable for Hermione anyway, so it wasn't like she could sit down and have a good heart-to-heart with Ginny the way she used to during the group's stalemate.

Although the pain of that Hogsmeade trip still hadn't left – every time Hermione looked at Ron, her heart still gave a tight squeeze – it was finally bearable. It had gradually been subdued as the need for his presence had grown. The redheaded boy was stubborn, obnoxious, loud and messy, but he was also her loyal best friend.

And then there was Harry; good, honest, loving Harry. He had been the best friend Hermione had ever had next to Ron, but her bond with Harry was deeper in a different way.

While her feelings of friendship with Ron had grown into something more in a romantic sense, what she had with Harry had become something else entirely. Since she was an only child, he was the closest thing she had ever had to a sibling and she assumed the same went for him. He offered her comfort when she felt upset about something, an ear to listen to what she had to say coupled with sincere, kind words of advice, and a shoulder to cry on when she ever felt the need. Harry was her rock, really, and she took up all the same roles for him. He was the main reason why she had decided to stay friends with Ron.

Well, him and Ginny.

_Ginny_. The name made her heart ache and her stomach twist guiltily. Ginny had always been there for her, never failing to go out of her way to make sure Hermione was happy. Her sassy attitude and firecracker personality usually helped Ginny get Hermione to smile or laugh when it seemed that nothing else could. She provided her with guy advice that Hermione couldn't – or, in most cases, wouldn't – ask the boys about. Their relationship had been so easygoing and comfortable. Ginny had become something like a little sister to Hermione, one of the dearest people to her heart, and Hermione couldn't let that go.

She couldn't let any of them go.

The grandfather clock in the corner struck two o'clock in the morning, and the four friends knew it was time to part ways until morning. Their eyes were growing heavy as the need for sleep began to set in, so they stood, hugged, and walked up their designated staircases. Hermione's feet trudged slowly up the stairs, her feet feeling slightly heavier, as if there were weights around her ankles to weigh them down.

Finally she made it to her dorm. She slipped in through the door quietly, closing it softly behind her and noiselessly shuffled across the room to her bed. She didn't bother changing into her night clothes and merely nudged off her shoes, loosened her tie, and flopped onto her bed on her stomach. Her eyelids shuttered closed, relief registering in her brain as her eyes were met with inky blackness, and she drifted off to sleep almost instantly.

* * *

><p>She opened her eyes and was greeted by a foggy landscape and twinkling night sky, each star like a tiny pinprick-sized diamond pressed into a dark fabric. If she held up her hand, the moon would probably have been no bigger than the pad of her thumb.<p>

Clouds suddenly set in, rolling across the sky and obscured the moon and stars from her view. As she looked around at her surroundings, a wave of nausea crashed into her and the beginnings of a headache set in. A wintry breeze blew past her, blasting in her face. Goosebumps appeared up and down her arms and legs even though she was still in her uniform skirt, long-sleeved shirt, tights, and gray sweater vest with the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the front.

Something didn't feel quite right.

She was seated on limp, frost covered grass that was cold enough that its chill reached through the protection her tights gave her legs. She shivered involuntarily.

She opened her mouth to speak, to mention something about how cold it was or not knowing where she was, but no words tumbled out. She was horrified to find that her voice was mute. _Where am I?_ She thought, alarm sparking deep within herself. _What is this place? _

It had a familiarity to it that Hermione couldn't seem to place, but she set that feeling aside, forcing herself to swallow her fear. She decided the best thing to do given her circumstances was to have a good nose around to see if she could find something that could help her figure out where she was. She moved to stand but found herself frozen in place.

She turned in her seated position to see a large, looming silhouette standing amid the dense fog, straining her eyes to make out more details. The fog slowly began to clear, taking her confusion with it as it revealed wooden bleachers. She took in each of the long, wooden benches and the different signs and banners hung around them. She read one that said, "Hogwarts will dominate!" in large golden script and another close by that had the words, "Harry the Champion!" written across the sign in bold red lettering. A sky blue banner with shiny gold trim around the edges was hung on one side, bearing the name and slogan of the French school, Beauxbatons, and a few feet beside it was a smaller one, this one a deep maroon color, that said, "Durmstrang's Victor Krum will get the cup!"

Her brain processed it and she finally realized where she was – the stands for all of the students of the competing schools for the Triwizard Tournament.

That's when she noticed that she was not alone. Someone else was there, sitting on the Hogwarts side of the stands.

Cedric, Her mind whispered.

He was clothed in his champion uniform, the yellow and black checkered pattern sticking out like a sore thumb against their otherwise desolate, empty surroundings. She regarded him curiously. What was he doing here?

"I thought it would be easy enough to guess." Cedric said. Hermione jumped, startled.

Could he–?

He quirked a dark eyebrow. "Hear your thoughts?" She nodded, eyes wide. Cedric smiled a little. "Yeah."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. That was impossible.

He looked at her, raising his brows in amusement. "Nothing is impossible, Hermione." Hermione watched him in amazement as he moved slowly down the stairs, past rows upon rows of benches. He stopped at the bottommost row and walked out to the railing, gazing at her across the four or five meters that separated them. "You can talk now, you know." He said after a while.

Hermione let out a deep breath, only just realizing that she had apparently been holding it in. "You still didn't answer my question," Hermione told him quietly. "Why are you here?" She asked.

She heard a thud from her left, cutting Cedric off before he could get the words out. Surprise flitted across her face as she turned to look.

"Don't," Cedric warned her.

Hermione looked at him quizzically over her shoulder. "What?"

"You know what." He frowned, furrowing his brows. "You know what's happening."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Hermione whispered, but as soon as the words tumbled out, she began to feel something stir in the back of her mind.

A memory? She couldn't really tell what it was and since it wasn't strong enough to surface, she ignored Cedric's cautious warning and looked anyway.

One look was enough for her to understand the urgency in his voice.

Seeing those eyes again broke her. Lifeless eyes. Dead eyes.

Unseeing and empty.

Those were not his eyes; they couldn't be.

A gut-wrenching wail ripped through her throat. "CEDRIC!" she screamed, reaching over to desperately shake his body. "Stop this right now," she demanded, tears pooling in her eyes. She took his face between her hands and shook it. "Cedric, quit joking around and sit up!"

He was cold and still beneath her palms. No heartbeat in his chest or warmth in his body. No movement of blood in his veins. No color in his lips or cheeks.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she choked out, "You can't be dead, Cedric!"

"I'm not," his voice interrupted her, the lifeless body in the grass disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Hermione looked up with unshed tears shining in her eyes to see the other Cedric standing right in front of her, momentarily having forgotten about him in her panic. "What do you mean?"

"There's still time, Hermione," Cedric told her gently.

"How much?" Hermione asked, urgency lacing into her voice.

He disregarded her question and continued to speak as if she hadn't uttered a word. "You're close, but you need help," he said. He looked around suddenly, his face dawning a look of desperation. He looked back at her, his eyes shining with fear. He started speaking again but his words were coming out quickly and somewhat jumbled up. "You need to hurry. Your time is almost out."

"Where do I go?" Hermione blurted. A million questions were bubbling up in her mind, and she knew that she had to talk quickly if she wanted to ask them all. "How close am I to helping you?"

"Hurry," he whispered, the terror on his face more than she could bear.

"What do I do?" Hermione cried out to him, leaning forward to grab him just as his body vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Hermione's hands empty.

The stands were melting away into nothingness, the fog swallowing up everything.

"Tell me, Cedric!" she begged, swallowing hard to dispel the lump in her throat. "Please!"

But it was too late; he was already gone. All of it had disappeared except for her and the questions she knew that Cedric would never answer.

* * *

><p>Sunlight slanted across her eyelids, causing her to stir. She awoke in a daze, confused after her dream, but deciding that a nice hot shower might help to clear her mind.<p>

As she stripped off her clothing and stepped into the steamy jet of water, her mind wandered back to the dream – back to the ground in front of the stands and Cedric's ominous words.

Who did she know that Cedric trusted the most?

Hermione thought of Dumbledore first, but quickly ruled him out. Despite the fact that he was powerful, she doubted that that's "the help" he had been talking about. Next was Cho, but there was no way that she was going to ask her for help.

So…that only left…

Suddenly, the water was turned off abruptly and she was climbing out of the shower, hurriedly wrapping a towel around herself and drying off as quickly as she could. Only one thing was on her mind: one name.

_Scott._

* * *

><p>Hermione nearly flew across the school in her haste to get to the Hufflepuff commons, which was located down countless flights of stairs and a little past the kitchens. She wasn't entirely sure whether or not he'd be there, but it was a start.<p>

The best one she had so far, Hermione thought as she raced around a corner and through a corridor.

All the staircases and corridors were empty since practically all of the students were all still fast asleep in their beds, which kept from hampering Hermione's pace.

By the time she reached her destination (a discreet little nook just to the right of the kitchen corridor), Hermione was doubled over with both palms rested on her knees, huffing and puffing as she tried to catch her breath. "I really need to exercise more often," Hermione muttered when her heart rate and breathing had returned to normal, "because that was pitiful." She straightened her back and looked over herself, double-checking that she had everything she needed.

She was wearing the basics of her uniform: knee-high gray stockings, obsidian-colored flats, black knee-length pleated skirt, a white short-sleeved button-up collared shirt, gray sweater vest, and her Gryffindor-colored tie. A smooth, brown leather satchel hung at her side, and she opened it and pulled out its contents – her wand and all the letters she had received in the beginning from Cedric – before closing it again and facing the obstacle before herself.

A stack of barrels barred her path, placed right in front of the common room entrance. She had done plenty of research over how to get through them, and knew that if she were to make one mistake then she'd mess the entire thing up. Hermione took careful steps toward the correct barrel, making doubly sure that the one she stood in front of was in the middle of the second row, two from the bottom, and then reached out a tentative hand. Her knuckles softly brushed against the wood at first, hesitant as she began to knock, but eventually she got into the swing of it.

Her knocks were precise and constant, rhythmic and methodical as she knocked out the tune. Entering the Hufflepuff common room was tricky; one had to knock out the rhythm of "Helga Hufflepuff" in order to get through. If the sequence of tapping or the incorrect lid was tapped, the trespasser got drenched in vinegar and was unable to gain admittance inside. She had read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_.

Finally, her hand fell still and she waited, sure of herself but trembling nervously like a leaf nonetheless. After all, what if she had done something wrong?

A few beats of silence passed, seemingly long and unyielding before something happened. Slowly at first but gaining momentum after less than a second, the lid of the barrel she had just knocked on swung open, revealing a passageway.

Hermione sighed in relief and crawled inside of it, her anxiety from moments ago already fading. It swung shut behind her and she was momentarily plunged into darkness, blinking her eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting, and she crawled a short way until she saw the end of the earthen tunnel bathed in light. At last, she reached the end of the tunnel (though it was admittedly short; probably only about one and a half to three meters long) and tumbled out, brushing off the bits of dirt that clung to her clothes and hair.

When she looked up, the sight before her took her breath away.

Hermione had read about the Hufflepuff common room in multiple books – including _Hogwarts, A History_, of course – but no text on paper could adequately describe it. The room – a basement, due to its location one floor below ground level, from whence it had gained the popular nickname "Hufflepuff Basement" – appeared to be a hollowed out space in the earth. It was a spacious room, rounded and low-ceilinged with gleaming copper furnishings and accents. The shape of the room reminded Hermione of the hobbits' homes from J.R.R. Tolkein's _Lord of the Rings _series that she'd read with her father as a child.

Yellow tapestries were hung all around the room and a couple of overstuffed yellow and black upholstered couches and armchairs were placed around a large, circular, yellow wooden fireplace with the a few carvings of the Hufflepuffs' prized house animal, the badger, in the honey-colored mantelpiece. The fireplace currently housed nothing more than the last smoldering embers from what Hermione assumed to last night's fire.

Round windows lined the walls close to the ceiling, allowing the early morning sunlight to filter through them and dust everything it touched in gold as well as provide a view of the lush, vibrant spring grass and the yellow dandelions that had begun to sprout here and there among it.

An oval shaped portrait of Helga Hufflepuff was stationed just above the mantelpiece and she smiled down at Hermione, though her expression was slightly curious. But what had really rendered Hermione speechless was none of that; it was the naturalistic, earthy feel the room had. It was cozy and homey the same way as the Gryffindor common room was, but it was bursting at the seams with plants of all kinds. Potted plants of all shapes and sizes and colors filled the room: hanging from the ceiling, sitting in windowsills, and perched on tables and other surfaces around the room. Hermione knew most of them from all of the reading she did, but there were some that she'd never even heard of before – extremely rare ones, that is.

Hermione breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of the dirt and all the different scents the flowers, both magical and muggle alike, gave off. She was surprised that they didn't overpower the room, instead working together to blend the multitude of fragrances into a soft, underlying floral perfume. It was so beautiful that Hermione almost forgot what she was really there for, simply content with standing on a corner of the grand yellow and black woven plush rug and taking it all in with a look of wonderment on her face.

_Almost_, but not quite.

She shook her head, making a mental note to visit more often and peered around for the entrance to the dormitories. She spotted them almost immediately – two circular doors with polished copper doorknobs on the far left side of the room. They were nearly identical except for the color of their painted wood: the left door was yellow and the right was black.

What if Scott refused to help? Hermione thought suddenly as she made to take a step. Her foot returned to its previous position almost instantaneously.

What if he didn't believe her when she told him the truth? She shook her head in annoyance. No, she reminded herself, it was Scott she was talking about, here. Of course he'd believe what she told him. Why wouldn't he?

But that niggling voice in the back of her head would not be silenced so easily. What if he told other people about it? Then what? She was really stumped there. Did she really want to enlist the help of Merlin-only-knew how many people if that happened?

_Would_ that happen?

Hermione was about to come up with a good counter to her doubt when the black door opened, forcing her thoughts to come to a screeching halt.

A scrawny-looking first year boy with buzzed black hair and ebony skin stepped out and she saw her chance to get to Scott right then and there.

"Hey!" Hermione called, pointing at the boy. He looked up, startled, his brown eyes wide. She saw his eyes glance at her red and gold tie.

"M-me?" he squeaked. Hermione nodded vigorously. The boy shuffled forwards nervously, his every move light and quiet. His shy personality strongly reminded Hermione of Aiden, and the thought made her smile gently down at the boy.

"What's your name?" she asked softly.

He seemed to calm down just a little when he realized that she wasn't going to do anything bad to him. Hermione frowned inside, worried that the poor kid had run into Malfoy and his goons, but she knew that now wasn't the time to ask him about that (or offer her protective services to him). "Rudo Kofi," Rudo replied quietly.

Hermione nodded, filing the information away.

Rudo Kofi. The name was of African descent, implying ancestry or possibly residency there. She studied his face a moment. His British accent was too strong for him to live there, though there was a slight accentuation of Swahili in it so perhaps he visited a lot.

She shook her head. Now was definitely _not _the time to go into an in-depth analysis on Rudo's genealogy. "Hermione Granger," Hermione said, her smile still situated on her lips.

The boy's eyes grew wider, but in awe instead of fear. "You mean…" He opened and closed his mouth a few times in disbelief before managing to ask, "So, you're friends with–?"

"Harry Potter?" Hermione offered. He nodded slowly. Hermione laughed. "Yes, he's one of my best friends."

All of Rudo's previous hesitation and bashfulness evaporated in an instant, replaced by a look of pure delight. "What can I do for you this morning?" Rudo asked warmly, a stark contrast from his earlier tone.

"Straight to the point, huh?" Hermione asked, her eyes shining with warmth, and Rudo nodded excitedly. "Good; that's a nice quality to have." She saw him fighting back a proud grin. "Could you possibly do me a favor, Rudo?"

"Sure!" he answered. "What do you need?"

Hermione pointed at the door he had just come through. "Do you think you can fetch someone for me, please? It's urgent."

Rudo blinked in surprise. "Yeah, I can do that. Who're you looking for and what year is he?"

"Scott Logan, seventh year." Hermione said confidently.

"Okay," Rudo said, "I'll be right back." He turned and ran across the room, back toward the door and flung it open to dash up the stairs. Hermione waited patiently in the common room for him to return with Scott in tow, her eyes still glancing around a bit.

There was just something about the room that made it so beautiful_, s_he thought, gazing in fascination at some of the more uncommon blooms. It was something that the Gryffindor common room lacked and it wasn't just the plants. Hermione's eyes scanned the room. It had a sort of rustic, simple elegance. Her common room didn't have that; it was all polish and glory up there.

She sighed wistfully and allowed her thoughts to wander away from comparing common rooms as she looked at the door. There really was no turning back now. She couldn't leave now that she sent someone for him.

She had to do this.

Hermione breathed in slowly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth in an attempt to calm her suddenly racing heart down.

_Be brave, Hermione. You're in Gryffindor for a reason_, She reminded herself.

She had to do this for Cedric's sake.

She was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts as the door handle jiggled. The door slowly opened and out came Rudo, positively beaming, and as the door opened wider Hermione's heart flew up to her throat as her anxiety reached its peak.

Scott stood in the round doorway for a moment, his hair mussed up from sleep and sticking out in different directions, his expression muted by sleepiness. His clothes – a pair of yellow and black plaid pajama pants and a white T-shirt – were disheveled and his feet were bare. He blinked his eyes blearily and looked at Rudo, scratching his head. Hermione saw his lips move and could just make out what he was saying from across the room. "What'd you say I needed to wake up for, again?"

Rudo looked over at Hermione and grinned. Scott's eyes followed his gaze and he raised his eyebrows when he saw her standing in the middle of the common room. Hermione forced herself to hold in a laugh as he righted himself immediately, all the tiredness from a moment ago gone, and a smile graced his face as he thanked the first year. The younger boy simply nodded before walking over to Hermione and muttering, "He sleeps like the dead."

Hermione giggled. "Thanks for resurrecting him for me, then," she said softly.

He shrugged, his lips quirking upwards at the edges as he replied, "Anytime." And with that, he walked out of the common room.

"You look a little out of place down here, little lion," Scott called out to her, smirking slightly.

Hermione let out a laugh and walked toward him. "Good morning to you, too, Scott."

He strode across the room to meet her in the middle, standing before her with a curious expression as he said, "Not that I'm not flattered that you dragged yourself out of your comfy bed this morning to look for me, but what are you doing in here?"

Hermione's nervousness surfaced again and grew tenfold. She forced herself to refrain from fidgeting with her fingers. "I have something I need to talk to you about," she explained.

He raised his eyebrows again and moved past her to plop down on one of the couches, gesturing to the adjacent one. "Talk away, Granger."

She shook her head, anxiety etching itself across her face. "I will, but not here."

Scott's carefree smile dropped off of his face and he stood back up again, his expression changing to one of concern. "What's going on?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked around before reaching out and taking his hand. "Can we go somewhere more private?" She asked quietly, a note of urgency in her voice.

He frowned, perplexed. "Yeah," Scott said slowly, "but hold on. Stay right here."

"Alright," Hermione breathed, relieved that he had agreed to go. Scott flashed her a warm, kind smile that didn't quite lighten the unease in his eyes before turning back toward the door that led to the boys' dormitories.

"I'll be right back," he said, disappearing behind it once more after Hermione nodded her assent.

Her heart was beating quickly. She hoped he would listen to her long enough for her to explain everything.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer****: **Yeah, you know the drill by now but I'll say it again for kicks. I own nothing but the plot of this story.

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

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><p>Scott returned eight minutes later with tamed hair and dressed in a pair of black slacks, a white, long sleeved button-down shirt and black lace-up Oxford dress shoes, his yellow and black tie slung haphazardly over his shoulder.<p>

"So," he said casually as he approached her, "where to?"

Hermione felt the corners of her mouth turn upwards ever-so-slightly as she replied, "The library. Where else?"

Scott chuckled and followed her through the tunnel and out of the barrel. They walked there in companionable silence.

Only after Hermione was certain that they were safely tucked away in her little nook did she finally speak. She settled into one of the stiff-backed wooden chairs, suddenly wishing that she could transfigure it into that yellow beanbag chair she'd come to greatly appreciate during her prolonged stays researching as she shifted uneasily in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position in her seat.

After a few more moments of listening to the chair groan in protest every time she moved, she gave up and looked across the wooden tabletop at Scott. He was seated nonchalantly in his chair, one arm hanging over the back of it and the other draped across the surface of the worn table in front of him. Despite his casual position, his eyes were trained inquisitively on her, his brows knitted together seriously.

Hermione emitted a sigh that had been built up from months of silently having to carry such a large weight on her shoulders, one that gave rise to a flicker of hope that the burden would be shared between them. "Scott," she began, "do you remember when Professor Trelawney went to the Hospital Wing earlier this year?"

He nodded. "Yeah, who doesn't?"

Hermione's unsmiling expression didn't change. "Do you remember the rumor that went around school as to why she was there?"

He nodded again, suspicion creeping into his voice. "That she tripped over the hem of her skirt and fell into a tea table?"

"That's the one." Hermione affirmed, twisting her fingers anxiously in her lap.

"Okay," Scott said slowly, "but what's Trelawney got to do with anything?"

Hermione bit her lip. "She didn't actually trip over her skirt and fall into a tea table, Scott," Hermione confessed in a low voice. Scott straightened in the chair immediately and leaned forward, indicating that she had his full attention. "She told me a prediction." She knew from past experience that Scott shared her opinion that Trelawney was a fake who didn't possess any sort of foresight at all, so she was certain that her serious expression was the only thing holding him in place.

He shifted a little in his chair as the information sank in. "What was the prediction about?" Scott finally asked her, wariness evident in his brown eyes.

"Here," she said, "let me show you." Hermione undid the metal clasp to her satchel and reached inside, pulling out the parchment that she had written the prophesy on and handing it across the table to him. As he reached out and took it, she explained quickly, "It's a riddle of sorts."

Scott's eyes looked over the words and he mumbled, "I see that." He looked up at her when he'd finished, placing the parchment on the table. "What's all of this about, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly, snatching up the parchment and waving it in his face. "Can't you see, Scott? It's about the letters! The ones I thought were from you!"

Scott's eyes widened nearly imperceptibly and he grabbed her wrist lightly, stilling her hand. "You figured out who they were from?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, his eyes pleading. He had bent so far across the table that his face was only a few inches from hers, so close that she had to flick her eyes back and forth to see both of his.

She blinked, startled by his sudden actions, her hand caught right between them. "Yes," she whispered. Then he was seated once more, her hand released from his grasp.

"Who was it?" He asked after she had resituated herself in her own chair, the prophecy sitting in the middle of the table, abandoned for the moment.

She pulled out the letters and spread them out across the table. "Read these first."

"Okay." Scott picked up the first one and read it, followed by the second, and then the last, his brows furrowing more and more the further in he read. He carefully folded the third one back up and slid it into its respective envelope once more, gingerly putting it back where he'd picked it up from and staring at Hermione with a newfound interest and determination burning in his eyes. "What's next?"

"The last letter." Hermione said quietly.

"What do you mean?" He asked in surprise, his gaze looking over the envelopes sitting between them. "There's only three here."

"Well, you're half-right." She gave him a tentative knowing smile at his confusion. "There were three, originally. But those three," she said, gesturing to the ones he had just read, "were from 'you'." She used air quotes for emphasis before holding up the fourth letter.

It was the only one without an envelope.

Hermione traced her fingers down the outward-facing creases. "The fourth letter, however…" she trailed off, hesitating to disclose the final, most crucial piece of information. She looked up into his eyes and suddenly knew that she could trust him with her secret, a realization that made speaking much easier. "Well, that one was harder to get my hands on."

"How so?"

"Look here," Hermione said, handing him the prophecy as well the notes she'd taken on it. "See how it translates? The letters were just pieces of a puzzle, and it took a careful eye to inspect them to figure out how to piece them together to see the whole picture."

Scott looked up at her, putting the pieces of parchment in his hands down, and nodded at the letter in her hand. "So that's the answer, then?"

"Yes, it is," Hermione replied. Scott held out his hand for it, but Hermione withdrew it from his reach, drawing herself very close to him. "This is very important, Logan, so listen closely." He blinked, stunned by her stern tone, but he didn't utter a sound. "What I'm about to show you is something you cannot tell anyone under any circumstances whatsoever. I haven't told a soul – not even Harry, Ron, or Ginny. Do you understand the magnitude of that?"

Scott's expression grew very solemn. "Yes, I do. You have my word, Hermione: everything that we've discussed this morning is only between us." His voice was genuine, a voice that didn't hold a single shadow of doubt. He was undoubtedly too deeply in it to turn back, and his trust in Hermione was written all over his face.

Hermione nodded once and put the letter in his hand, watching him unfold it slowly and his eyes drink in the words on the page. They were wide in disbelief when he'd finished, his jaw slack and his mouth slightly agape. The letter was clenched tightly in his hands. "Scott?" Hermione whispered softly, biting her lip. "Are you okay?"

His eyes locked with hers, and she was astonished to see a slight glimmer of tears in his eyes. "Is this–" He cut himself off, swallowing hard before continuing in the same hoarse voice. "Is this your idea of a joke?" A bit of hurt managed to make its way onto his face and the look he was giving her was breaking her heart.

Hermione leaned over the table and took one of his hands in both of hers, a purely platonic gesture, never breaking eye contact. "Why would I lie to you about something like this?" she murmured, her voice trembling.

The wet sheen in his eyes vanished at her reply, and his faced hardened with determination. "Take me to him, then." Hermione opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "I want to see him for myself."

Hermione squeezed his hand tightly. "Okay," she said quietly, letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding in, "okay." She let go of his hand and gathered her things, carefully tucking them back away into the satchel, and stood up. "Let's go."

He stood and trailed behind her out the library and into the corridor. She managed to start up some idle chit-chat about nothing in particular on the way to the Room of Requirement to help calm him back down, Scott only asking where they were going once. "You'll see," was Hermione's reply, coupled with a wink. He laughed and shook his head at her in mock-disapproval.

Before she knew it, they were standing at the end of that familiar empty corridor watching the door materialize in front of them. Hermione reached for the handle but Scott's anxious voice interrupted her. "What do I do?" He asked, quickly running a hand through his unstyled hair. "What do I say?"

Hermione smiled encouragingly at him. "Don't think about it too much. He's still Cedric; his being dead or alive doesn't change that."

Scott swallowed hard and nodded toward the door. "Well? Are we just going to stand here all day or are we actually going to go inside?" Hermione rolled her eyes playfully at his teasing and opened the door.

Her eyes immediately zeroed in on Cedric's translucent form sitting in his favorite recliner, his head turned toward the low flames in the fireplace. "Cedric, you've got some company," Hermione announced. He looked at her, puzzled, but an unreadable expression took over his face when Scott stepped through the doorway. Hermione ushered him toward the couch and they both sat down.

Cedric's expression saddened. "He can't see me, Hermione," he said emotionlessly, his eyes dull. "There's no use in him being here if he can't see or hear me."

Hermione glanced at Scott, who was currently staring at what Hermione guessed appeared to be an empty armchair, and smiled hopefully at Cedric. "Maybe not."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What're you on about now?"

"Just trust me, okay? I want to try something." Hermione said.

"Excuse me," Scott interjected. Hermione and Cedric both looked at him. "I hate to interrupt, but it's a little awkward that I can't see who you're talking to, Granger."

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "You two are just alike!" she huffed indignantly, blowing that annoying strand of hair out of her eyes and crossing her arms. "If you would kindly allow me to try this before you question me further, that would be great."

Silence greeted her outburst, the only noise in the room coming from the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, which had grown much warmer since Hermione and Scott had seated themselves on the couch. Both boys wordlessly stared at her.

"Thank you _very _much." She muttered before holding out her hand to Cedric. When he only looked at it questioningly, Hermione said softly, "Hold my hand, Cedric." His eyes locked with hers, his gaze smoldering with an emotion that Hermione couldn't quite place burning in their depths, before he obediently took it.

That same sensation as all those months before overtook her once again as his fingers closed firmly around hers, tingles running from her fingers and trailing their way up and down her spine. His touch was cold as ice, biting her skin like a bitter wintry draft everywhere it touched her skin. She couldn't feel the skin on his palm or fingers as they brushed over hers to get into place, only that chilling feeling.

But she did not release his hand, not even as heat bloomed across her cheeks, blush dutifully painting them red.

She thanked Merlin that it was already warm in the room.

Hermione held out her other hand for Scott and he timidly took it. She took a moment to study his pensive face for any change. "Well?" she asked somewhat impatiently. Did it work?

Over and over, again and again those three words played like a broken record in her head. She had to know.

He was staring past her, over her shoulder at the armchair. Hermione's eyes followed his gaze and saw that he was looking directly in the place where Cedric's eyes were. And when she looked back at his face, she saw, for the second time since she'd come to know Scott Logan, tears in his eyes. He blinked and a glittery tear rolled down his cheek, a smile lighting his face. "Hey there, Ced," he whispered.

Cedric's eyes were wide in shock but he recovered quickly, flashing his trademark crooked smile, his eyes positively glowing. "Hey, mate. Where've you been?" Hermione's own eyes grew glossy with tears of happiness as she watched their reunion.

For the remainder of the day, Hermione simply watched the two best friends talk again for the first time in two years, taking in the gratitude and joy shining in Cedric's eyes every time he looked at her as well as the gleeful smiles that both boys couldn't seem to wipe off of their faces, and she felt good again for the first time in a long while.

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><p>"Now what?" Scott asked. Hermione had already gotten the sneaking suspicion that he'd get around to posing the question eventually, so she already had an answer prepared for him. She looked from Cedric to him from her comfy perch on the soft, brown plush couch in the Room of Requirement.<p>

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but Cedric beat her to it. "We're – well, Hermione, mostly–" Hermione blushed at that comment, lowering her head to hide her flushed cheeks. "–trying to figure out how to bring me back."

Scott nodded his head slowly. "Okay." He turned to Hermione. "What've you got so far?"

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Nothing. I've searched _everywhere_, read every single book the library has in stock about ghosts, dark spells, and ancient magic. I've even perused through the Restricted Section—" she spared Cedric a glance out of the corner of her eye to see him staring at her intently, his eyes shining slightly with what she believed was awe, "but still. There was nothing. Absolutely _nothing_." She growled in frustration and gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to rip her hair out since both of her hands were currently in use.

"And you've already tried the bookstores in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley?" Cedric asked her.

She nodded. "Yes. I went to Diagon Alley over Christmas Break and it was a lost cause. I even went to Knockturn Alley to pay a visit to Borgin and Burkes, but not even they any books of that sort in stock." Hermione explained, more than a little disgruntled after recounting the memory.

"I want to help," Scott said suddenly, his voice holding no room for argument, "and I think I've got some ideas that might help us widen our range of available books."

Hermione and Cedric shared a questioning glance before they both shrugged and turned back to Scott, just missing his eyebrow raise at their silent interaction. "What do you have in mind?" Cedric spoke up.

Scott's lips spread into a mischievous smile. "Something that could turn out to be very good for us."

His expression worried Hermione, making her thoughts wander back to all of those adventures with Harry and Ron that she had tagged along for, breaking all sorts of rules in the process. While the guilt of never gotten caught whispered that she shouldn't do it, that she shouldn't add more to that or worse, actually get herself caught and getting into trouble, most likely forever staining her unblemished permanent record, the thrill of doing something reckless – the larger part of her moral being – screamed that she absolutely should.

After a quick battle of pros and cons between the two, Hermione made her decision. She turned her head toward Scott's expectant face and said, "Get on with it, then."

Scott grinned widely and leaned forward, laying out the details of his plan.

And when he was finished, Hermione couldn't help but smile herself. His plan, assuming that it worked, was absolutely ingenious. She only wondered later, after they'd bid their goodbyes to Cedric and she'd retired herself to bed, why the thought had never occurred to her.

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><p>Hermione awoke in the middle of the night after hearing a creak in the floorboards. She shot up, grabbing her wand to defend herself against the intruder, and found herself looking at the sheepish face of Lavender at the end of her bed. "Sorry, Hermione." Lavender whispered apologetically. She held up the glass in her left hand, a transparent liquid sloshing around inside with the motion. "I got up to get a drink of water. I didn't mean to wake you up."<p>

Hermione blinked at her before her groggy head realized that she was waiting for a response. "Oh, it's fine." Hermione said softly, glancing around to see if anyone else had been awakened, but her eyes were greeted by the three other girls' sleeping forms. "You didn't know that there was a loose board."

Lavender emitted a quiet, relieved sigh, a tired smile gracing her face. "Thank you." She murmured before scurrying back to the sanctuary of her warm blankets. Hermione heard her place the cup carefully on her night table and her soft, rhythmic breaths as she drifted back off to sleep.

Hermione, however, wasn't so lucky.

She lay back down, pulled the covers up to her chin, and tossed and turned for a good five minutes without feeling the fog of sleep descend upon her mind. She stared up at the ceiling for a while, wide awake, knowing full well that she wouldn't be falling asleep any time soon. Eventually, she gave up and rolled onto her side. As her body stilled and her mattress stopped its infernal squeaking beneath her, a wave of restlessness washed over her. Her hand itched for her wand, and she gave into the urge and snatched it from her nightstand, absentmindedly twirling it between her fingers before casting a spell on the mattress to quiet the springs inside of it and standing up. She shivered in her pale pink silk nightgown and slipped her soft white robe on, tying the sash firmly around her waist, before sliding her feet into her supple slippers.

She padded silently across the room, stowing her wand away in an outward robe pocket below the sash, and stepped out into the hallway. She crept down the stairs and out of the common room, casting a quick disillusionment spell over herself just in case she might run into Filch and his mangy cat, Mrs. Norris. A familiar involuntary shudder ran up her spine as she felt it crack over her head and then she knew that she was invisible. She noiselessly glided down the corridors and staircases until she stood in front of the Room.

Her heart thumped noisily in her chest as she reached for the door handle, nervousness sending her senses into a mess at the prospects of seeing Cedric at such a late hour. She had never done it before, and the thought both terrified and excited her at the same time. Her hand trembled as she grasped the cold metal, and she took a deep breath. It's just Cedric, she reminded herself with a shake of her head before opening the door.

She expected that same comfortable room as always to appear before her, but she was greeted by something entirely different in its place. Lush grass tickled her ankles as she stepped inside and a warm breeze gently caressed her face as it blew past her. The ceiling – or what used to be the ceiling – was a deep shade of purplish-black, twinkling with countless brilliant stars. A full moon illuminated the landscape, bathing a single weeping willow tree in its light. Hermione took off her shoes, leaving them by the door, and walked slowly towards it.

As she drew nearer, she realized that she was going up a slight incline, and when she reached the peak, stopping just short of the tree, she saw a vast lake before herself. The surface was smooth as glass, the moonlight reflecting off of it and causing it to shine silver. Hermione's eyes travelled around herself, taking in her surroundings, and a sad smile tugged at her lips, a dull throbbing embedding itself within her heart.

The place held a note of ethereal beauty to it but also such bittersweet sadness, Hermione thought forlornly, noticing how the willow's flowering branches barely skimmed the water.

"Hermione?" She jumped at the sound of Cedric's voice, and turned quickly to see him staring at her curiously. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I came here." Her voice came out barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would break the peacefulness of their surroundings.

"Why?" He asked softly, taking a step toward her, his expression unreadable.

She bit her lip. "Because I wanted to see you." She admitted. She averted her eyes and tried with all her might to stop her embarrassed blush from spreading to her face, because she knew that in this lighting he would see it. She looked up, internally frustrated with how much she kept blushing lately, but not in time to catch the pure shock that flashed in his eyes. "I didn't really get much of a chance to talk to you earlier."

He smiled gently at her. "It's okay." He said, his eyes glowing. "I'm glad you came."

"So you don't mind that I intruded, then?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

He laughed. "Of course I don't!"

They shared a laugh for a moment, and Hermione abandoned her earlier attempt to be quiet.

"Come on, I have something I'd like to show you." Cedric said, gesturing toward the willow. Hermione gave him a puzzled look but followed him regardless. She rounded the thick trunk and saw a hollow inside of it. Cedric ducked inside, Hermione right behind him, and he guided her straight into…

The room.

That familiar room with the brown couches and armchairs, the polished stone fireplace already holding a merrily crackling fire inside. Hermione looked around the room incredulously, stunned by the fact that everything was the same. Cedric was facing her now, taking in her mesmerized expression and Hermione snapped out of her reverie when she heard him chuckle. "How did you–?"

"I've told you before that I know this place very well." Cedric said, his eyes glowing with warmth.

Hermione spun around and saw the door that she had entered the Room of Requirement through behind her, her shoes sitting right beside it as if that's where she'd put them when she knew for a fact that she had laid them in the grass.

"This is…" Hermione couldn't even find the right words to accurately describe what she was feeling. "Brilliant. How did you do that?"

Cedric shrugged nonchalantly. "Patience, mostly. It takes lots of it to get the Room to do what you want it to do, but it's not impossible. People just don't ever take the time to try."

"Show me." Hermione said eagerly. His eyes widened slightly – he had obviously not expected her to react that way. "Please, Cedric. I want to know how to do it, too."

He raised his eyebrows. "You really want me to teach you how?"

Hermione nodded excitedly, her eyes glowing at the prospect of learning new knowledge. "Yes!"

"Well, then let's get started." He said with a laugh. He walked over to her and looked at her directly in the eyes, holding her gaze steadily. "First, think of something. Anything that you want." Hermione pictured the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be an apple-flavored Danish. Her stomach grumbled quietly in approval. "Do you have it?"

"Yes."

"Close your eyes." He murmured. Hermione's eyelids fluttered shut and she only allowed her thoughts to be on the lightly frosted treat. "Think only of that thing that you want. Clear your mind of everything else."

Hermione started when she heard his deep, gentle, melodic voice directly in her right ear, and she started to picture his lips less than an inch away from her ear. Her heart started to beat erratically in her chest at the thought. But then she remembered what she was supposed to be doing and forced everything from her mind except that little circular dessert. No Cedric, no Room of Requirement, nothing.

It was harder said than done.

"Now picture where you want it to appear." He whispered.

Hermione thought of the table in front of the couch. Over and over she thought that same thing, the image of it sitting there waiting to be eaten.

"You did it!"

Hermione's eyes snapped open in surprise at his sudden exclamation, and then she saw him grinning, standing by that very table pointing at something on the tabletop. She moved closer to get a better look and saw, to her utter amazement, a circular, golden crusted Danish with apple filling and white frosting drizzled on top sitting right in the center of it.

Hermione picked it up and took a careful bite, the sweet, mouth-watering taste spreading over her taste buds quickly. It tasted as though it were fresh from the oven, still warm, the crust crumbling into her mouth as soon as she took each bite. It was, by far, the best one she had ever eaten.

Though she was disappointed when it was gone, it made her more confident in what Cedric had taught her, and she quickly started to think of other, bigger things. A lamp, a rosebush, a bookshelf full of books. Soon enough, she was thinking up whole rooms, designing them to fit whatever accommodations she desired.

It was around two or three in the morning when she decided to leave him and she picked up her robe from where she'd discarded it hours before and put on her shoes. "I'd better head off to bed." Hermione said as she finished tying the sash back around her waist.

Had Hermione been watching him closely, she would've noticed Cedric's eyes lose some of their brightness for a moment, but she was far too tired by that point to have noticed something like that. "Yeah, it's late," he agreed.

She was about to leave when something she didn't notice earlier hit her like a ton of bricks. She whipped around and stared at him, raking her eyes over his body. Her eyes scanned every detail, and when they locked onto what she'd been searching for she covered her mouth to smother a gasp of horror.

Her eyes widened as she saw that the hole had grown exponentially over the few months since she'd noticed the first spot. It covered a good two quarters of his chest and had begun to creep its way across his left shoulder. She walked slowly over to him and cautiously raised her hand.

She could feel his eyes on her as she reached out and ran her fingers over the faded part, even though it felt like she was only stroking the air. Her horrified eyes flickered up to meet his, and she saw his mouth was set in a grim line. "I'm fading faster and faster every day, now."

"Do you have any ideas about what it's doing to you?" Hermione asked worriedly.

He shook his head. "No."

Hermione dropped her hand to her side, her eyes never leaving his. There were a few beats of silence that passed between them before she said, "Don't worry, Cedric. Scott and I will find a cure for you and bring you back."

Cedric gave her a small, sad smile. "The chances are looking pretty bleak at this point, Hermione," he murmured.

"Trust me." She whispered.

"I do." He replied instantly, gently. It was right then when she noticed how close they were to each other.

Hermione's face heated up, but she didn't break eye contact. "Cedric," she said quietly, "stay very still." The intensity of his gaze caused her cheeks to grow darker as she leaned forward and brushed her lips softly across his cheek, wishing more than anything at that moment that they both could've felt that.

When she pulled back, she saw his eyes light up brighter than she'd ever seen them. "Thank you."

And then she smiled at him, nodded, and left the room.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: **Harry's hard to kidnap. I guess I'll leave him with J.K. Rowling.

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

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><p>"Are you ready?" Scott asked.<p>

Hermione frowned, slightly uncomfortable with what she was about to do. "No, I'm not, but I'll do it anyway."

Scott flashed her an award-winning smile and patted her on the shoulder. "That's the spirit!"

"Oh, _hush_, would you?" she groaned, rubbing her hand over her face. They peeked around the corner of the hallway.

* * *

><p>"There he is, right on time." Scott murmured, his eyes fixed on a group of Slytherins walking down the corridor.<p>

In the middle of them was none other than Draco Malfoy, in all his pale-skinned, white-blonde, sharp, aristocratic featured glory. He was flanked by tall, dark-haired Goyle and short, chubby, reddish-brown haired Crabbe. On the edges were Pansy Parkinson with her olive skin and – though it killed Hermione to admit it – stylish black bob haircut and Blaize Zabini with his tanned skin and close-cut, tight black curls.

Scott looked at Hermione. "Here's your cue."

"I'm going, I'm going." She muttered, whipping out her wand and casting a disillusionment spell on herself. Then came the instinctive shudder that followed after it had cracked over her head, and she knew she was invisible. "Wish me luck!" she whispered, hustling out and taking her place behind them.

"–so, like I said, father just _had_ to invite everyone." Hermione rolled her eyes; of course Draco would be in the middle of a self-centered gloat-fest when she caught up.

_Just great._

All she could see from where she was positioned was the backs of their heads and their billowing cloaks.

She was extremely careful to move as soundlessly as possible, and so far everything was going well. No one appeared to be suspicious of her presence just yet. "That's cool, mate." Blaise said, nodding respectfully toward him.

"Isn't it, though?" Pansy cut in. "Mr. Malfoy spared no expense on anything."

"So…" Crabbe said slowly, "there'll be lots of food, right?"

Hermione heard Draco snort indignantly. "Of _course _there will be, you bumbling idiot! Father has an entire spread of only the best delicacies and treats the Wizarding World has to offer."

"Honestly, Crabbe…" Blaise trailed off, and Hermione detected a note of exasperation in his voice.

"Anyways, moving _on_," Pansy said sharply, and Hermione could just picture her sending Crabbe a glare, "what's with the party? Not that I'm complaining or anything."

"Haven't you heard?" Malfoy drawled. Hermione grimaced. _And cue his infamous self-righteous smirk._ "I've been promoted by the Dark Lord himself, and father believes that it calls for celebration."

Hermione wasn't surprised by that, though she was a little disappointed in him for it, despite the fact that all of the odds were stacked against him and the fact that he was an insufferable git. Scott had said something like that would probably happen, which was why she was trailing them in the first place.

The objective for phase one of Scott's brilliant plan was simple: find an opportunity to infiltrate Malfoy Manor to sneak into their library and find a book that could save Cedric.

The Malfoys had many ancient tomes about the Dark Arts gathering dust on their fancy shelves at that very moment that were not only first additions, but, in most cases, the only copies ever made or still in existence. And _that _was the only reason that Hermione had any interest in what Malfoy had to say at that particular moment, because the party he was talking about could very likely be the only way she'd get the information she desperately needed to bring Cedric back.

"That's great, Draco!" Pansy exclaimed, clapping her hands gleefully.

"No surprise there, mate," Blaise chuckled. "But seriously, Drake, why did he do that?" There was a short pause, but Hermione saw Malfoy's back stiffen. "Calm down! You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I got selected for an important mission." Malfoy said, an air of superiority in his voice.

"Really? What's the mission?" Pansy asked.

"I'm afraid that that's confidential information that I'm not at liberty to disclose presently." He replied coolly. Hermione raised an eyebrow, admittedly curious.

"Someone's getting a little high-and-mighty, aren't we?" Blaise said in a joking voice. "I was only kidding, Drake! Honestly, mate, sometimes you make me think that you've lost your sense of humor."

Goyle spoke up for the first time in his deep baritone voice. "When's the party?"

"I was just getting around to that, Goyle, but thanks for the reminder. Looks like you _are _good at something, doesn't it?" Malfoy said dryly. "It'll be this Saturday evening at nine o'clock sharp. " He paused for a moment. "And don't bother showing up at all if you're late; father's set up enchantments that will prevent late arrivals and party crashers."

Good to know, Hermione thought, storing the information away.

"This is so exciting!" Pansy gushed.

Hermione followed them until they got to the end of the hall before she decided that she'd gathered all the usable information about the party after listening to their conversation steer toward future hexes and terrible jinxes to use on their next victim and turned to find Scott.

She found him leaning casually against the wall where she'd left him, waving his wand around and muttering random spells that created showers of sparks. She cleared her throat, causing him to jump. He looked both ways before letting out a laugh. "I can't see you, Hermione."

Hermione blushed, having momentarily forgotten that she was still invisible. She murmured the counter charm and regained visibility once more. "Sorry about that."

He wave off her apology, cracking a smile at her. "It's fine. So, what did you learn?"

"Let's go to the Room, that way I can tell you and Ced at the same time."

As soon as they got to the Room of Requirement and settled into the couches, Hermione told them all about the party. When she was finished, Cedric looked up at her seriously. "Are you sure about this?"

Hermione scoffed. "What do you mean? Of course I'm sure!"

Cedric gave her a sad smile. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Hermione looked determinedly at him. "But you know that you can't change my mind."

"I know."

"Then it's settled!" Hermione declared. She looked between the two boys with a very un-Hermione-ish twinkle of mischief in her coffee eyes. "I've got a party to crash."

* * *

><p>Ron shook his head and crossed his arms. "No."<p>

"Ronald," Hermione warned, planting her fists firmly on her hips, "don't even start." She gave him a defiant glare.

"Too late." Harry muttered. Hermione turned on him, stomping toward him and pointing a finger in his face.

She scowled at him in her Hermione-ish way, making him feel no more than three inches tall despite the fact that he had at least half a foot over her. "So you're taking his side, then?" she asked him accusingly.

He put his hand up in a gesture of peace. "Whoa, 'mione, calm down." She relaxed her tensed shoulders, but only slightly. She didn't lower her finger — not yet, at least. "I'm just saying that I don't blame him for his aversion to your new, er, look."

She narrowed her eyes. "What's wrong with it, then?"

Harry raised his eyebrows a little at her defensiveness, but answered nonetheless. "Well, for one thing—"

"You've turned into a bloody blonde, that's what's wrong!" Ron exclaimed indignantly, cutting him off.

Unfortunately, as Hermione was on her way to sneak out of the Gryffindor common room to meet Scott before the Malfoy Manor rendezvous was put into operation, she ran into the boys. Of all the days that they could've chosen from to study, they just had to pick that one.

She had used a spell to temporarily straighten and dye her hair platinum blonde. On the bright side, at least she wasn't wearing the gown she'd asked Scott to pick out for her yet — if they were appalled by her appearance now, they would be out for blood by the end of the night. She almost shivered at that terrifying thought.

"Right." Harry agreed. "Not to mention the fact that—"

"—your eyes are blue-gray instead of brown." Ron interrupted again.

Whoops, she'd all but forgotten about that part...

Ron gave her another disbelieving once-over. "And...and bloody hell, Hermione, you look like you could be Malfoy's sister!"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, staring at her red-headed friend. "First of all, while I'm touched — truly — that you care so much about my appearance, it's none of your concern." She directed a stern glare toward both of her male friends. "And secondly, since when did you two start studying?"

Ron and Harry exchanged a look before they mimicked her gesture and crossed their arms, moving over to stand in front of the portrait hole. "We weren't really studying," Harry explained, "we were waiting for you to come down and try to sneak out."

Hermione quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. "How did you know that I would?"

"We've seen you leave the common room nearly every night after hours for the past couple of weeks, and we want to know why." Ron said, his voice holding no room for argument.

His body language exuded dominance, reminding Hermione of another good reason she'd gotten over him. He was always so demanding, so quick to assess a situation before he had all the information he needed to properly understand what was going on.

Like now.

Hermione couldn't help but let out a laugh. Outwardly, it appeared that she was laughing at the fact that they'd act so absurd, but inwardly it was to cover the guilt that was beginning to build in her gut for not telling them the truth. She wanted to, she genuinely did, but she couldn't. She had to protect Cedric by keeping him a secret.

"I've been going to the library," she replied. She looked between the two defensive boys and let out an exhasperated sigh. They were so stubborn. "You know how I am with my studies."

Harry's brows knitted together. "If you say so..." While his relaxed body language indicated that he trusted her answer, his emerald green eyes still held a note of distrust in them.

Ron put a hand in front of his male companion to stop him when he made to go to his dormitory, his suspicious blue eyes still locked onto Hermione. "Hold on, mate." He said. "Hermione, that still doesn't understand why you look different."

Hermione rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated puff of air which sounded more like a sigh of exasperation, luckily for her. "I'm practicing some charms I learned from some seventh year girls in one of my classes." She elaborated, looking between them, waiting for them to relent and move. "Well?"

They swapped a final glance—one that clearly read _I'll-never-understand-girls_—before finally stepping aside. "Alright..." Ron said, running a hand through his hair, "we believe you."

Hermione smiled and walked up to each of them to give them a hug and quick kiss on the cheek. She went to Harry first. "Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome." He said. He pulled her in for his hug and murmured in her ear, softly enough that Ron couldn't hear, "If you need to talk about anything, you know you can come to me any time, right?"

Hermione's smile faltered as she pulled away, but she had covered it up by the time they had released each other. "I know, Harry." She placed a chaste kiss to his smooth cheek and ruffled his black hair. "Goodnight."

The seed of guilt planted within her sprouted another tiny root after hearing his sincere words.

Harry made his way upstairs, and then it was just Hermione and Ron. At first, there was silence, the two of them just looking at each other.

"Things will never be the same again, will they?"

The question startled her.

"What?" Hermione blinked.

His eyes glanced down to the red and gold plush rug beneath their feet. "You know what I'm talking about." He drew in a deep breath and looked back up at her. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"You've apologized enough, Ronald." Hermione murmured softly, her eyes glowing with sincerity.

He let out a bitter laugh. "No, actually, I haven't. It doesn't matter how much I apologize now, and I wish I knew that at the time." Hogsmeade, that's what he was talking about. They both came to a silent understanding of that fact.

Except Hermione knew that he was talking about more than just that. She knew it, but she asked anyway. She had to be sure. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, bloody hell..." he muttered. "I know I blew my chance with you, Hermione. And that's something I'll regret for the rest of my life."

Hermione was shocked, to say the least. She wasn't expecting him to say something like that, and especially not at at time like that. There was nothing she could say because he was right. He messed up, and he lost his chance to be with her.

But that didn't stop her from walking over to him and wrapping her arms around him tightly. He returned the hug soon enough—his delayed reaction most likely caused from being caught off-guard—and held her close. Hermione released him quickly, careful to keep from lingering and giving him false hope but making it long enough that it was a comforting gesture.

"I'm sorry, Ron." she whispered quietly, looking up into his crestfallen face—that familiar freckled face she'd come to adore, however now only in a platonic way.

She really was sorry, though. Cedric had been right all along, it seemed, when he said that Ron liked her but didn't know what to do about it. She could just imagine how he must be feeling; he had always thought that she would be there for him, waiting for the time to come that he would finally man up and admit that he reciprocated her feelings. She had been his rock, his comforting back-up plan, and now she wasn't even that. He would have to live with the fact that he was the reason that they didn't ever become something real besides their ever-constant arguments.

Poor Ron. It was such a sad ending to what they both had always thought would be a happy one.

"Don't be." He said simply. "It's not your fault."

She stood on tip-toe and placed a quick kiss on his cheek, feeling his flesh heat up beneath her lips with a scarlet blush. And for the second time that night, she murmured, "I know."

They exchanged their goodnights, after which Ron proceeded to scold her for still insisting on going out late, and he lumbered up the stairs to his dorm room. Once she knew he was gone, she slipped out of the portrait hole and hurried through the dark corridors to Room of Requirement.

The door materialized before her, and she walked in and saw Scott lounging on a couch and Cedric pacing before the fireplace. She had always thought it was ironic that the two boys were together when one of them couldn't even see or hear the other, but she set that aside. There were important matters at hand that needed to be taken care of.

They both looked up at the sound of the door opening and closing, and Hermione was met with Scott's look of seriousness and Cedric's somber one. The latter had a pleading gleam in his eyes, but she dismissed it and went straight to business. No use in dwelling over what, quite frankly, was probably not even there. "You're late." Scott deadpanned.

"I got held up for a bit in the common room, but I'm here now." Hermione said. She made her way over to them and sat down in Cedric's recliner, and she could feel his eyes trailing her every move. She'd never sat there before, but she needed some sort of comfort and she figured that that was the best she'd get. As soon as she sat down, the reality of the situation finally had the chance to dawn on her, and it got her heart racing. In a matter of minutes, she would be inside Malfoy Manor, in jeopardy of being caught by Death Eaters for trespassing and possibly being delivered to the Dark Lord because of who she was.

It was a truly terrifying, bone-chilling image, but she was willing to risk it for Cedric.

She was willing to do anything for Cedric.

Scott smiled at her, drawing her from her thoughts. "I was only messing with you, Hermione. No need to get so serious!"

Hermione felt like she was going to retch, she was so scared, and he had the nerve to joke around! She didn't understand how Scott could always be so easy-going, but now wasn't the time to ask. She knew that much.

She spotted the black garment bag and asked, "Is that it?"  
>"Yeah." Scott replied. He handed it over to her. She ran her hands over the smooth vinyl material, stopping at the black zipper strip running down the front.<p>

"It's all in here, then?" She asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Yup," Scott replied. "Everything except the shoes, of course." He winked at her, and she shivered involunarily. From what she'd learned about him, it would be just her luck that he'd hand over some type of impossibly high stiletto heels.

Hermione stood up, garment bag clutched closely to herself, and made her way over to the corner to change. A door appeared on the wall (she'd thought it up, of course), and she stepped into a dressing room. It was a large room straight from the movie screen—red velvet carpetry and curtains, and a neutral brown wallpaper to match. There was a large clothing rack in one corner—gold, naturally, and completely bare—and a grand makeup vanity with a beautiful marble countertop and sparkling mirror with a matching chair before it. There were gold trimmings and accents around the room, and a couple of decorative lamps with shades that had sparkling strands of little beads hanging around the bottom edge. Vintage posters of actresses from old black and white movies were hung on the walls in polished wooden frames, all smiling from behind their black-and-white photographs.

She pulled off her worn grey sweat pants and old T-shirt after admiring her handiwork a moment longer, and stood in the middle of the room in front of the mirror.

She looked at her reflection almost shyly, but she considered herself a different person under the enchantments she'd placed upon herself. Her hair trailed all the way down her back, a surprising difference from her usually mid-back curls. But then again, her curls made her hair shorter due to their nature. She pulled her wand from the left pocket in her sweatpants on the floor and pointed it at herself.

She wanted to feel different tonight. If she was going to be someone else for a few hours, she wanted to play the part as much as she could. So she waved her wand and transformed her generic bra and panties into pretty little things that she'd seen from a lingerie magazine. The bra changed from a plain white one to a more scandalous strapless black lacy one, and her underwear went from blue striped (and, quite frankly, mismatched) to the same style as her bra.

She unzipped the bag and pulled out the dress, carefully stepping into the silky material and pulling it on. She tugged slowly on the tiny zipper on the side with one hand, holding the dress up with the other, and then looked in the mirror. It was a sleek black, strapless dress with a sweetheart neckline. It hugged her trimmed waist, and fell straight down to the floor from her hips. It had a slit running up both sides to her knees.

A wave of her wand later and her blonde hair was pinned back into a sophisticated twist, and glittering diamond earrings materialized on her earlobes, along with a matching diamond necklace with a small pendant on it. She pulled out the chair in front of the vanity and pulled on her thigh high skin-colored pantyhose, then faced the mirror.

She pulled opent the drawer and drew out some makeup from it, and then applied some red lipstick and rogue. Next came the mascara for long, black eyelashes, and some shimmery white eyeshadow followed by a thin line of black eyeliner on her upper eyelid.

When she was finished, she was hardly recognizable as Hermione Granger any longer. Which was fine, because she was now Alyssa Black, the Malfoys' long-lost relative.

She picked up her small pile of discarded clothes and folded them up neatly, and walked out of the room with them. She could feel both of the boys' eyes on her, but one pair felt like it was burning a hole through her. "Hermione." Cedric spoke up for the first time that night. His voice sounded strained.

Hermione looked up at him. "Yes?"

She jumped because of his close proximity, but she did not shy away. "You can still back out of this, you know." He reminded her, his eyes shining with anxiety and worry. "We can just look elsewhere for a cure..."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "No, Cedric. I..." she faltered, and she thought she saw pain flash across his eyes. "I have to do this."

"But that's just it, Hermione!" He murmured softly, "You don't." He lifted his hand slowly, ever so slowly. It was a few inches from her face when he stopped. He looked at her with pleading yet soft grey eyes. "May I?"

"Yes." She whispered. Her heart hammered away in her chest as his hand drew closer and closer towards her, and then he was touching her cheek. She couldn't feel his hand this time as it cupped her cheek, but she knew it was there. She laid her hand over where his was supposed to be, her face quickly heating up. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice nearly inaudible. Her eyes never left his.

"I'm worried about you." He replied, taking a step closer to her. "I don't want anything to happen to you on my behalf."

"I have to do this."

"No, you don't."

"You can't change my mind now, Cedric." Hermione reminded him.

He hesitated for a moment, and then he finally murmured, "I know."

They made our way over to the couches so that Scott could brief Hermione on all of the information that she needed to know, and then he handed her the shoes she was supposed to wear. They weren't too bad, actually—some strappy black heels, but nothing too tall that she couldn't deal with. She waited a moment to catch her breath before slowly drawing out her wand from the little black clutch Scott had given her, all the while thinking, _I need to Apparate. _

_Please, Room, let me Apparate into and out of here_. Over and over again.

She gave Scott and Cedric one last look, her eyes lingering on Cedric. Their eyes were locked, as if neither could look away, and then with a swish of her wand, a swirl of color, and a sharp tug on her belly button, they were gone.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>

* * *

><p>She was freefalling. That's the first sensation that registered in her brain.<p>

Familiarity; that _I've done this before_ feeling was the second.

Tumbling, spinning, the world turning into a jumble of mixed-up colors – it was easy to forget which way was up and which was down.

It only lasted a moment.

Hermione hit the ground hard enough that it knocked the wind out of her, her stomach facing downwards in the soft, lush grass. She let out a soft wheeze as she struggled to breathe and collect herself, and then she pulled herself up from the ungraceful heap in which she had landed and stood. A quick spell later and any dirt or imperfections on her disguise was gone (after all, she couldn't let anything happen to that dress or Scott would kill her; it used to be his mother's formal evening gown when she had been her age, and it had been packed away in his attic for decades, nearly forgotten about) and she looked around at her surroundings.

A huge gothic mansion loomed before her, daunting in its entirety; an architectural masterpiece to be gawked at, even as it approached its two centuries-old mark. She knew she was in the right place – there was no mistaking a home that boasted such prestige and wealth to be anyone else's – and she approached it cautiously; there was no telling what could become of her once she stepped through that heavy mahogany front door with its intricate black brass knocker. A great black and white marble circular fountain sat in the center of the yard and regal-looking white peacocks strutted around, bobbing their heads and pulling long white tails behind them in the grass, cooing and chirruping to one another in soft, subdued tones.

Wand clutched tightly in her right hand at her side, she made her way up the steps and onto the wide front porch, her heat beating erratically in her chest and a sense of foreboding coming over her the closer she got to the door. A trembling left hand reached up for the door knocker in the shape of a cruel snake, its glittering ruby eyes glaring at her as her hand neared it. She could almost hear its hiss of disapproval as the soft, delicate flesh of her palm touched the cool metal, and a round of gooseflesh made its way up her arm.

_Imposter. Mudblood. Filthy, disgusting wench; you do not belong here. _

She knew she was imagining the voice; cold, cruel, and unrelenting, a voice that cut like a knife with its harsh words, but all the same it terrified her.

_Knock, knock, knock. _Slow, medium-loudness; not too hard and not too gentle.

The wand shook in her right hand, the smooth wood held so firmly that her knuckles were white. The doorknob jiggled after a moment; the lock clicked. Hermione forced her hand to steady itself, and stood up straight in an effort to appear stoic, dignified. The door opened slowly, the motion bathing the porch in a golden glow as light spilled through it, and a small gray-brown skinned elf stood in the doorway. It stood rigidly, its face impassive, its large crooked nose pointed upward to regard her. Hermione threw her shoulders back and forced her face into a mask of superiority. "Invitation?" It posed in a gruff, raspy voice.

"My apologies to the Malfoys, but I'm afraid that I've left it at home." Hermione replied.

"You are not to come inside without it, miss." The elf said stiffly. Hermione's fingers twitched around her wand.

"Oh?" She asked, letting out a short, humorless laugh to cover up the fact that her heart was pounding. "There must be some mistake."

Its huge, bulging eyes blinked once. "No mistake, miss." It said. "Orders are orders."

Hermione flicked a white-blonde lock of hair out of her face impatiently and twirled her wand in a nearly undetectably small movement by her side, uttering almost inaudibly, cringing internally, "_Imperio_."

A soft golden light flew out of her wand tip and drifted slowly over to the elf, circling his head and then fading away into nothingness. He sneezed loudly, wiped his nose on the sleeve of his dingy clothes, and blinked a few times before looking back up at her and smiling dazedly. "How may I be of service, miss?" He asked, his voice taking on a dreamlike quality.

Hermione gave him a small, apologetic smile. "I've forgotten my invitation to the party at home."

The elf's grin merely grew. "No problem at all! Come on in." He stepped aside and she walked upon the threshold. As she passed in front of him, she felt a tap on her side and turned around to see the elf looking up at her.

"Yes?"

"And, ah, let's not tell the master about this, miss." He flashed another lazy smile at her.

Ruby red lips curled upwards, revealing two neat rows of white teeth. "You have my word." She walked away slowly, waiting until the elf turned back around, before releasing the spell on him and erasing the memory of the entire encounter from his brain.

Hermione's heels clicked quietly as she moved through the hallway of the house. The Malfoys obviously spared no expense for anything—they had quite lavish, aristocratic décor throughout each room and even the halls she went through that simply _screamed _of wealth; sumptuous wallpaper and flooring, luxurious furniture, and beautiful paintings in glistening, polished frames upon the walls. There were antiques of a wide spectrum of values, all probably worth more money than her own home.

She wasn't sure where she needed to go to find the library, and she was terrified of getting lost in the oversized mansion. However, she knew that if she asked someone any questions that she ran the risk of getting caught, and that she would possibly have her life to pay for the consequences. She turned down another long deserted corridor, having already lost all sense of direction by that point, and wondered down it.

_I'm lost. _The thought hit her like a load of bricks. _I'm lost and I'll never find my way back._

A wooden floorboard squeaked nearby.

Body trembling in fear, she opened her lips and softly, quietly whispered, "Hello?" Doors lined the walls like soldiers, and she was nearly shrouded completely in darkness; there were a few wall scones nearby offering a feeble source of dim light. She flicked her wand in front of herself. "_Lumos_." She murmured, and the wand tip immediately lit up. Clutching the wand tightly with both hands, she found the courage to speak again. "Is anyone there?" Silence. And then…

_Squeeeeaaaakkkk._

It sounded like it was somewhere behind her, but it was closer than before. Her heart began to race and adrenaline made its way into her bloodstream. "I-I'm lost," she said, voice shaking, "and I don't know which way to go from here. Please help me…"

In one quick moment, her wand was knocked from her hand and she was pushed roughly up against the wall by someone she didn't know. She couldn't identify them properly because of the poor lighting in the corridor, and as soon as her wand hit the floor the light went out. Her back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of her, and it took her a brief second to get her disoriented brain to come to a startled realization: _This is a dangerous predicament._ Wandless, alone, and currently fixated to the wall by a strong forearm across her chest, she knew this was it. She was about to die.

She could smell the faint hint of a masculine cologne, no doubt an expensive brand if the scent was anything to go by, so she quickly assessed her assailant to be a high-class male. A pervasive voice hissed in her ear, "What do you think you're doing?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "I-I didn't mean to wander this far," she replied faintly, "I was just admiring some of the furnishings and by the time I realized what had happened I was lost…"

The vice-like grip on her loosened a fraction. "Why didn't you ask for help?" His voice was still low, but it only sounded annoyed now.

"I didn't know who to ask." She answered honestly, her initial alarm slowly ebbing away.

"You shouldn't be wandering about in a place that you don't know very well." he said. "Especially here. It's dangerous here; bad things happen to stupid ninnies like you within these walls."

Hermione let out a gasp of horror. "A-are you going to–?"

"_No_." He interrupted impatiently, his tone laced with exasperation. "If I were going to kill you or violate you, don't you think I'd've done it by now?"

She nodded at his logic. It _did _make sense. A sudden thought occurred to her. "Then…" she hesitated, squinting her eyes as she peered up into the black outline of his head, trying to find some sort of indicator of who he was. "Why are you here?"

He leaned in really closely and whispered, "To help you, mudblood."

Her mind was reeling as the voice registered in her brain as someone she knew.

What did he know? She had been _so careful _keeping her secrets to herself, darn it, so how could he possibly know?

"B-Blaise?" His name fell from her lips, a soft utterance of disbelief.

He leaned in closely to her, and her heart began to beat erratically in her chest as she felt his breath, hot and steady, in her ear. "Yes?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to swallow her growing alarm. This was all wrong. There was no bloody way she was going to trust a Slytherin, especially not him, not after everything he and Malfoy had done to her in the past. Years of torment—the name calling, the snide remarks, the violent acts of hatred toward her—and for what?

All because of that stupid little word he had just called her.

_Mudblood_.

"I don't trust you," Hermione whispered, her voice nearly inaudible.

He chuckled darkly. "I don't think," he pushed slightly harder against her chest, and his tight hold on her wrists, which were shackled above her head against the wall in one of his hands, "you've got any other choice."

"What do you want from me, Zabini?"

He took a moment to reply.

"A do-over." He murmured, and there was no mistaking the honesty in his hushed voice. She opened her eyes and squinted into the near-darkness into the black outline of Blaise's head where his face was, her eyes searching for his—even though she knew she wouldn't find them—to see if there was a truthful gleam there. But she couldn't see because of the dark, of course, so she had to trust him, trust the words that he'd just said to her.

First, though, she needed to know how he knew of her; the niggling voice of reason persisted her to inquire upon the subject. "How did you know?"

"Know what, exactly?"

"You know very well what I mean, Blaise." Hermione hissed, her eyes narrowing into annoyed slits. "How did you know about me?"

"Granger, I think I've known you long enough to recognize your voice." He replied bluntly.

Her heart skipped a beat as the reality of the situation set in. So far, he'd let on nothing that showed her he knew of her mission, so maybe, just maybe there was still hope...

"And I also know," she jumped, startled by his voice's sudden proximity to her ear, "that you're here because you want something. Isn't that right?"

_Lie_. Her conscience suddenly fluttered to life in her head, whispering softly to her, _Lie to him_. He could turn against you; you cannot trust this boy. "Y-yes..." She choked out.

Her eyes widened in disbelief at her lips' betrayal of the protection her mind had tried to set in place in a last-ditch effort to keep her secrets—Cedric's secrets, moreover—safe, and icy dread was released into her bloodstream.

His iron hold finally was relinquished, and she took a moment to collect herself and dust herself off, adjusting her dress and smoothing her hair in an attempt to look presentable once more in the presence of anyone who might cross their path. Quite suddenly, something cool and hard was shoved into her hand, and as her unsuspecting hand closed around it, she realized that it was her wand.

She peered into the dimness and saw his outline, faintly, and decided that he had been right; she had no choice but to trust him now. And since he'd returned her wand, it proved that he clearly trusted her not to harm him, so she decided that she would attempt to retain her discontent about her piteous plight.

* * *

><p>"Milord, Pettigrew wishes to entertain your company to exchange some...intruiging information, sir." A cloaked man said, head bowed low. His eyes looked upward to see the back of the armchair facing him, the front facing the glowing fire crackling merrily in the marble fireplace.<p>

"Very well." His reply was slow, careful sounding. There was so much meaning behind those two small words, meanings that the poor man did not wish to ponder upon for too terribly long. "Send him in."

"Yes, milord." He bowed again and walked out of the room, quickly ushering the small, timid man into the room.

"You may go now, servant." The Dark Lord said, his voice holding no room for argument.

Refusal was not an option when talking to Master, anyone who had even the slightest bit of sense knew that.

The servant bowed low at the waist. "Yes, milord." And then he exited the room and was gone. The sound of the door closing echoed about the silent room.

"Th-thank you, milord, thank you s-so much for allowing me to speak w-with you—" The rat-man stuttered, trembling terribly.

"Get on with the news. Pettigrew." The Dark Lord snapped, his voice dangerously low.

"Y-yes, m-milord." Peter rubbed his hands together, his filthy, dirt-encrusted fingernails running over his dirty palms. "It s-seems, sir, th-that there's b-been a b-b-break-in, sir."

"Oh?" The great snake hissed softly as the Dark Lord stroked her smooth, scaly head.

"I-indeed, milord." Pettigrew flashed a nervous smile. "Th-there's s-someone here at th-this v-very minute who w-was not given an invitation."

"I see." The Dark Lord mused, his extremely calm, deep tone masking the red-hot fury that Peter knew lie beneath the surface. When Master got this way, it terrified him more than ever to be in his presence.

It was silent for a long moment, a thick tension filling the air like a deadly poison, slowly suffocating Peter. "M-milord?" He finally managed to ask, licking his dry, cracked lips. "W-what's the plan of action t-to be t-taken, m-milord?"

His question was met by a sinister chuckle. "I do believe," the Dark Lord said slowly, a smile entering his voice, "that we should catch the pesky unwanted guest and teach them a lesson."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Disclaimer: **Yeah... No. I just own the storyline I made up here.

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>

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><p>"Give me your hand," Blaise whispered as they made their way down the hall.<p>

_Tap, tap, tap. _Hermione's heels clicked as she walked across the floor, and halted suddenly. "Why?" Suspicion laced its way into her voice, despite her attempt to be more trusting of him.

He stopped walking as well and turned around. "Has everything _got _to be an interrogation with you, Granger?" He asked exasperatedly.

He was met with her stubborn silence.

"I'm trying to be a gentleman and keep you from tripping over everything in the dark, Granger; the least you can do is oblige me by going along with my requests." He said softly.

Still, she did not speak.

Blaise sighed and began pacing. "What are you even looking for, anyway? I never thought you'd go anywhere without Scarhead and Weaselbee."

His last comment stirred resentment within her, and she chose then to indulge him in conversation. "How very _Slytherin_ of you." She spat bitterly, glaring at him. "And here I was thinking that since you'd gone about asking for redemption that you would have started by rising above childish name-calling."

He let out a low hiss of frustration. "You're making this _extremely_ difficult, Granger."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "I never asked for your help, Zabini," she reminded him.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, and she knew that she'd stumped him. "I'm sorry." He said, and she knew he wasn't lying. "But as you pointed out, I am still a Slytherin. You've got to be patient with me."

Even though she knew that he couldn't see it in the dimness, she closed her eyes and nodded her head once, accepting his apology. "I'm looking for information."

This had caught his attention, she could tell. "What kind of information?"

Her eyes fluttered open and she stepped forward, close enough to him that she could feel his warm breath on her face. "Can I trust you, Blaise?"

"Yes," His earnest reply came less than half a heartbeat later.

"Truly?"

"Truly, Granger."

Hermione's face hardened in seriousness. "You can never tell another soul about this, do you understand?"

"I'm good at keeping secrets." Blaise assured her quietly.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath and was about to tell him, but her recent trust in him wavered. How could she be so certain that he could really be entrusted with what she was about to tell him? He could, after all, in true Slytherin fashion, lie to her face that he won't tell and then do it as soon as she turns her back on him. Her heart thudded, and with each passing moment that trickled by, she looked askance upon her faith in him.

"You've got nothing to lose, Granger." Blaise said, as if he had sensed her doubt. "And if your actions earlier are anything to go by, it looks to me like I'm your only chance of navigating this place without stumbling right into trouble."

He was right. _He was right. _He was right, and she _did _need him.

Inhale, exhale.

_Everything's going to be alright. I'm going to get what I need and leave, and then I'll never come back to this place again. I can trust him. I have to trust him. He's the only hope I have of getting what I need. What _Cedric _needs…_

"I need a book that can tell me how to bring someone back from the dead."

She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Right this way, then." And then she let him take her hand to lead her.

_Cedric_, Hermione thought, _I'm coming as fast as I can._

* * *

><p>"Lucius, my sources tell me that someone has slipped through your security." Voldemort's voice was cold and unforgiving, his blood red eyes locked with Lucius's steel grey ones, which currently resembled twin hurricanes. The firelight glinted off of Voldemort's grey, scaly skin, and his snakelike eyes sparkled with unmistakable fury that had yet to be unleashed. "What say you?"<p>

"My lord, I'm sure that there's been some mistake—," Lucius started, but his Master would have none of it.

"_NO_!" He shouted vehemently, effectively cutting off his follower's excuse. Lucius stared at him, aghast. "Now," His voice had regained its deadly calm quality, "I trust that you will find your unsolicited houseguest, yes?"

He bowed low, his long white-blonde hair sweeping the ground. "Yes, milord."

"You are dismissed, then." Voldemort turned back toward the fire. As Lucius made his way toward the door, he spoke up again, "And Lucius?" Lucius stopped. "I want you to bring them to me; Nagini's been quite hungry as of late, and the raw meat that you've been so _graciously_ providing hasn't been quite enough to quell her appetite."

His message was clear: _It's either you or them; either way, someone's going to die tonight._

And as if to validate that statement, the great snake itself slithered across the hardwood flooring to coil up at Voldemort's dirt-encrusted feet, lifting her head up to be stroked by his long, spiderlike fingers. She let out a soft hiss of approval, her slotted tongue darting out of her mouth and back in.

"I understand."

And with that, he left the room.

* * *

><p>They had been walking for what seemed like hours, when in reality could only have been a matter of minutes. A companionable silence had befallen them as they made their way to Blaise's unannounced destination, and Hermione had begun to grow restless. Finally, unable to keep quiet, she broke the silence. "Where are we going, Blaise?"<p>

"The Malfoys, as you know, are famous for their dabbling in the Dark Arts," Blaise said, a fact to which Hermione nodded in acknowledgement, "so they've obviously got countless books on the subject."

"That's why I came," Hermione murmured.

"I figured as much." He led her around a corner and then, finally, by some miracle of Merlin, they were in a lit hallway. Hermione could now see him in his entirety; he wore deep cobalt velvety dress robes and his dark curls were styled to perfection, a lock of curls swept to hang handsomely to one side of his attractive face. "There's a secret library here—very hush hush, if you know what I mean." He said finally, in answer to her earlier question.

"How'd you find out about it?" Hermione questioned.

Blaise shrugged nonchalantly. "Drake hangs out there a lot these days," he replied tiredly.

"Oh," was all Hermione seemed capable of saying in response to that. He was worried about his friend—of _course_ he'd be; Malfoy seemed like he was in way over his head in areas where Voldemort was concerned. And the way Blaise had just thrown those words out there, carelessly, and yet heavy with stress, had made the corners of Hermione's mouth turn down.

It was hard for her to believe, and yet the idea wasn't completely inconceivable: Blaise had aroused the feeling of pity within her; pity for Malfoy and the task that Voldemort had assigned him (which was, no doubt, a dangerous one), pity for Blaise's anxiety over it—pity, even, for the cruel, heartless Lucius Malfoy, because it _was _his only son, after all.

So Hermione squeezed his hand once, tightly, and murmured, "I'm sorry. That must be really hard for you."

Blaise stopped walking right then, so abruptly that Hermione nearly walked right into him, and wrenched his hand quickly from her grasp, his head bent low.

Hermione recoiled from him as if he'd slapped her, stumbling a couple of steps backward and cradling her hand to her chest. "What was that for?"

There was a beat of silence and then he turned and looked at her, his dark brown eyes meeting her magically-enhanced grey ones, his mouth set in a grim line of determination, and said, "We're here."

Hermione blinked in surprise, her indignation forgotten. "And, um," she started, looking around the dead-end hallway they were standing in, "where's 'here', exactly?"

Blaise stepped forward and brandished his wand from within his dress robes, tapping it on the ornate wallpaper in front of them thrice and murmuring in a low voice, "_Revelare secreta tenebris_." Though Hermione's Latin was a tad rusty, she managed to translate the sentence surprisingly easily: _Reveal the secrets of the dark_.

The wallpaper slowly peeled itself away, uncovering the entrance to a hidden stairway that led downwards into darkness. She was afraid to continue, but for Cedric, she was willing to do whatever it took to cure him by that point, so she quickly strode before Blaise into the hole. The smell of dirt, rotted wood, and dust assaulted her nose immediately, but after breathing it for a moment, she got herself used to it. She heard Blaise right behind her, and as soon as he stepped inside the entrance, the wallpaper sealed itself back up and they were plunged into inky blackness. Hermione pulled out her wand. "_Lumos_," she muttered, and a white orb of light lit up the tip. Her companion copied the motion.

"Be careful, Granger," Blaise warned her, "these stairs are extremely old and could give way at any moment."

Hermione nodded her thanks, and she slowly began her descent. As soon as she stepped on the first stair, she realized that Blaise was right; the old board moaned under her weight. She moved onto the next carefully, and continued on in the same manner for a while. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere underground directly below the Manor," He answered.

Hermione raised her wand up above her head to inspect their surroundings and saw that they were now in an earthen cavern, the dirt-packed ceiling overhead indicating that they were in a cleared out tunnel. With every step after the halfway point, Hermione could feel the temperature steadily dropping the further underground they got. "Why would they make a library so far out of reach?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.

"Drake told me that his ancestors—some of the first descendants of the Malfoy family line, in fact—had built it centuries ago." They kept moving, and Hermione hoped that the end was somewhere near. "It used to only be this dirt tunnel, which they had all sorts of creatures dig out for them, but about three hundred years ago these stairs were built for easier passage."

"But why all the secrecy?" Hermione asked.

"Well, back then, they had information of the darkest sort in the Wizarding World, and there were people who sought out to destroy it—"

It only took a moment for Hermione to put two and two together, "So they built this hidden library so that no one would find it." She finished for him.

"Exactly."

There was still a question that was bothering her, though. "Why hide it now, though? What've they got to lose by having all of the information aboveground?"

"It's for security, mostly," Blaise answered, blowing a puff of air, "but don't hold me to that. Drake knows a lot more about this stuff than I do. Basically, though, it's because the Ministry already looks at the Malfoy family suspiciously, and if some of the things that Draco's read in there when I came with him are anything to show how Dark this information really is, they could get into some huge trouble. And let me tell you—the Dementor's Kiss would be nothing compared to what they would have in store for them."

Hermione's heart filled with dread at his words. There was some dangerous things waiting for her down there. _Is this really what I want to do?_ She found herself thinking, _Cedric wouldn't want me to put my neck this far out on the line for him. I could still turn back now._

But she knew that she couldn't; not when the possibility of his cure being somewhere in one of the books in there loomed over her head.

_I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't go through with this._

So she pushed all the rest of her negative thoughts away and trudged on, down the creaky stairway to what she hoped was the answer to all of her problems.

* * *

><p>There was a man standing outside, no doubt looking for the next victim to capture. "Greyback," Lucius called boredly. The werewolf turned and looked at him, his mouth curling into a wicked smile that showed off his cruel, yellowed fangs. He was quite canine-like in appearance, with his thick brown beard, brown greasy hair, and long grey fingernails that came to sharp points on the ends like claws.<p>

"Lucius!" He chortled, "To what do I give this great pleasure?" His ice-blue eyes sparkled with malevolent excitement, the thought of fresh, warm meat to kill always at the forefront of his mind. And if Fenrir knew one thing, it was that Lucius only ever needed him for that purpose, in the end.

Lucius gave him a disdainful look, but continued on in his usual condescending tone, "I require your tracking abilities."

"And why is that, Malfoy?" he teased pitilessly. "Couldn't get the job done yourself?"

Lucius's eyes flashed with vindictive anger. "Do not question me, Greyback." His voice was lethal. "The Dark Lord has assigned me a mission, which I cannot complete without your help."

Greyback let out a barking laugh. "And if I refuse?"

"Come now," Lucius said, his tone suddenly low and deadly, "you wouldn't really consider that, now would you? You know how handsomely I always repay you for your services."

"Ah," Greyback sighed, "now we're talking about something I can take interest in." He looked at the moon for a moment and then back to the blonde. "What's in it for me this time?"

Lucius smirked darkly. "That's more like it." So he quickly explained to him about the intruder, and that, _yes_, they had to be brought back to the Dark Lord _alive_, but that he would take him to St. Mungo's later to have a go at a good handful of the patients there for dinner as payment.

* * *

><p>It had taken a long while, but they had finally done it—they had reached the bottom of the stairs and stood in front of the door that led to the secret library. Hermione could sense a powerful aura of dark magic emanating from the room even through the door, which served to both further frighten and excite her. She looked at Blaise, her facial expression completely somber. "Now, you've been a good guide, but if we get caught in here—,"<p>

"Which we _won't_, by the way—," Blaise interrupted her.

She gave him a stern look and pursed her lips. "Yes, well, _theoretically _speaking, then, if we get caught in here, we'll both be in seriously big trouble. As in, we'll most likely be killed."

"But we won't get caught, Granger." Blaise repeated again, "No one's going to come looking for us. I doubt anyone really cares right now anyways, since there's a party going on right now and all. Everyone's upstairs in the Manor getting positively smashed right now."

"True, but this place is still crawling with Death Eaters all the same," Hermione said, refusing to be swayed from the topic, "so it's dangerous for you to be here with me. You've helped me get here, and I thank you so much, but you don't have to help me anymore now if you don't want to. You're free to go now if you want."

"And _again_, no one is going to come looking for us, first and foremost," Blaise was obviously not one to be persuaded, either, obviously, "but secondly, I said I wanted a do-over and I meant it." He sighed. "I'm tired of being looked at as the bad guy, you know? I want to do something to help somebody, something that can be looked at as, I dunno, _heroic_, maybe? I want the chance to prove that I can do something good for a change."

Hermione stood there for a moment, taking in what he said, and then a face-splitting grin spread across her face. "Well, okay then. You're staying."

"I'm glad you finally see my way on things, Granger." Blaise said, smirking arrogantly.

"Oh, hush up, you." Hermione grumbled, her smile still firmly in place as she whacked him playfully on the arm. They shared a laugh for a minute, and then Hermione got serious, facing the heavy metal door before them, which, she noticed, had no keyhole or handle. "How do we get in here, Blaise?"

"We have to prove that we aren't here to destroy the ancient tomes stored inside."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "And how do we do that, exactly?"

"We have to touch the door and let it sense our desires for the knowledge it keeps us from."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, looking at the door doubtfully. "But…what if it doesn't accept our desires?"

Blaise stroked his chin mock-thoughtfully. "You know…" he gave her a faux-meditative look, "I'm not sure."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him before turning back to the door. She took a deep breath and, gathering up all of her courage, placed her palm flat against the cool old surface and closed her eyes. All of a sudden, she felt a strange sensation that made her hand tingle, and opened her eyes to see that her hand was glowing.

_**Why are you here?**_ A voice asked her in her head. It was a female voice, wise-sounding and clear-spoken.

Hermione decided to tell the truth. _I want to help my friend. _She thought.

_**What is wrong with your friend that cannot be corrected otherwise?**_

_He is departed, and it is both mine and his wish to bring him back to life. _She hesitated a moment before adding, an edge of desperation weaving its way into her thoughts, _Please let me come in. This is my last chance to save him before it's too late…_

_**And why does this friend matter so much that you would be willing to risk so much to obtain the information you seek?**_It was an elementary question, really, but it was hard to answer because she had never admitted the truth to anyone besides herself before.

All of a sudden, a clear image of his smiling face entered her mind, and an air of calm washed over her.

_Because I would rather die than see him disappear._

The glow faded from her hand and the tingling stopped, so she withdrew her hand and turned to Blaise, quirking a questioning eyebrow at him. "It should have opened right then," Blaise said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and giving Hermione an apologetic look, "I guess it's not going to open…" Tears began to form in Hermione's eyes.

No, it _had _to open. This couldn't be the end of the line, not after everything she'd had to do to get here. After all of that time spent planning for this night, all of those late nights spent with Cedric, discussing what he'd do as soon as he came back to life again… There was no way that it could be lost. _Please_, she thought, _please open._

She waited with baited breath, and just as her tears were about to spill over, the sound of something unlocking met her ears, and the door slowly, very slowly, opened up. Hermione let out a relieved little half-cry half-laugh, sniffling once as she stepped inside the library before her tears dissipated. She was utterly in awe of the sight before her.

It was the most massive library she'd ever seen—at least quadruple the size of the Hogwarts library, bookshelves lined across the walls and stacked in seemingly endless rows and rows all throughout the room. Books of all shapes and sizes and colors were stacked on each and every shelf, filling every nook and cranny with information. Her eyes were wide as she took it all in, her mouth slightly agape as she turned in circles to get a better view. But the more she looked, the more library she seemed to see, and she was speechless with wonder at its vastness. There had to be hundreds—wait, no, _thousands_, of books in there. The biggest question was, where would she start looking?

"It's not as big and bad as it looks, trust me," Blaise said, interrupting her train of thought. She turned and looked at him. "there's books written in all sorts of different languages in here, most of which are originals."

Hermione looked back at the room before her. "It's amazing." She murmured.

Blaise just smiled. "Drake loves it here."

Hermione giggled. "I bet he does."

There was a beat of comfortable silence, and then Blaise spoke. "Well, I suppose that now would be a good time to start looking, don't you think?"

"Good point." Hermione agreed, grinning at him. She made her way over to one of the closest bookshelves and saw that the title was written in ancient Sumerian, and so were the rest on that bookshelf. She moved on, quickly immersing herself in the familiarity of being in a library, her fingers gently running over ancient spines of books as she walked past. After a long time, she finally found her way over to the English book section, which had plenty of bookshelves crammed full of books for her to look through.

"How's this one?" Hermione jumped, startled by Blaise's voice after such a long period of quiet. She had been so lost in her search that she'd completely forgotten about him! Her cheeks flushed crimson in embarrassment, but quickly faded when she looked at the burgundy-colored book he held victoriously in his hand. She took it gingerly from him, her fingers tracing over the worn spine. The front cover was so old that the letters for the title weren't even legible anymore, and the pages were so old that they'd yellowed.

Hermione opened it and breathed in the comforting smell of settled dust and aged parchment, a scent she'd grown quite fond of after her countless library escapades at Hogwarts, stowing away in her little nook with an old book like the one she currently held in her possession. She flipped through the pages and saw that the words were still dark enough that she could read them, which was a relief.

"I skimmed over a bit of it, and it seemed to me like a book of spells that yielded extremely powerful results." He explained, despite the fact that Hermione hadn't even questioned him about it. She found the title on one of the first pages: _The Extreme Uses of Dark Magic_.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, this one seems like a good one." She gave Blaise a look of gratitude. "Thank you for everything. I don't know what I would've done without you tonight."

He smiled at her and made to say something, but was cut off by a howl, followed by Lucius Malfoy's voice as he shouted, "Show yourself now, filthy little mudblood wench, or Greyback can track you and bring you to me." Hermione's eyes widened in alarm, her whole body freezing over in terror as she looked over at Blaise, who mirrored her horror.

"She's a stubborn one, Lucius—I thought you'd have known that by now." Greyback's jeering voice echoed as he spoke.

"It's obvious that the mudblood wants to play, Greyback." Lucius smirked, his eyes glittering with rage at Hermione's defiance of him. "Bring her to me; the Dark Lord wants her alive!"

Blaise was the first to find his voice. "Granger, you've got to get out of here."

Hermione shook her head, her fear causing her to tremble. "Not without you, Blaise!"

He gave her an easy half-smile, but she could see that he was just as scared as she was all the same. "Don't worry about me. I did what I said I would, but now you've got to get that book back so that you can use it."

Tears began to blur her vision. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me…"

He grabbed her and pulled her close for a tight hug. Hermione hugged him back tightly. "Be brave, Granger. You were in Gryffindor for a reason."

"Game over, mudblood." Greyback's voice brought them back to reality, and Hermione's heart went into double-time as she realized that he had reached their row of books. An evil, twisted grin spread across his face as he took the two of them in. "Well, well, what do we have here?" His eyes glistened wickedly when he saw Blaise standing there. "The Dark Lord won't be pleased, Zabini." He tutted, but his smile grew wider still, reminding Hermione of the demented Cheshire cat from _Alice in Wonderland_.

And then he lunged for them.

Blaise shoved her off, suddenly whipping out his wand. "GO!" He shouted at her, giving her a panicked look before bellowing, "_Incendio_!" Fire burst forth from the tip of his wand, immediately catching on the books around him, and a fire exploded around them. Hermione took it as a good opportunity to take her leave.

As she waved her wand, she cried over the crackling flames, just loud enough for Blaise to hear, "You're a good person, Blaise." And then, with a _pop_ that wasn't heard over the uproar the raging fire created, Hermione was gone.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Disclaimer: **Do I really have to go through this agony again...?

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><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen<strong>

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><p>Hermione's heels hit the floor of the Room after what seemed like only a moment, so suddenly that she stumbled and fell forward. She caught herself on her hands, the book that she had held in a death grip the whole way slipping out of her grasp as she did so, and she pushed herself up off the floor. Her chest felt tight, and her eyes swam with hot tears. Her mind was still far away…<p>

_He sighed. "I'm tired of being looked at as the bad guy, you know? I want to do something to help somebody, something that can be looked at as, I dunno, _heroic_, maybe? I want the chance to prove that I can do something good for a change."_

Another memory flashed right before her eyes, burning at the forefront of her brain in its passing.

_He grabbed her and pulled her close for a tight hug. Hermione hugged him back tightly. "Be brave, Granger. You were in Gryffindor for a reason."_

_"Game's over, mudblood." Greyback's voice brought them back to reality, and Hermione's heart went into double-time as she realized that he had reached their row of books. An evil, twisted grin spread across his face as he took the two of them in. "Well, well, what do we have here?" His eyes glistened wickedly when he saw Blaise standing there. "The Dark Lord won't be pleased, Zabini." He tutted, but his smile grew wider still, reminding Hermione of the demented Cheshire cat from_ Alice in Wonderland.

_And then he lunged for them._

_Blaise shoved her off, suddenly whipping out his wand. "GO!" He shouted at her, giving her a panicked look before bellowing, "_Incendio_!" Fire burst forth from the tip of his wand, immediately catching on the books around him, and a fire exploded around them._

"Hermione." His deep, clear, melodic bass voice cut into her thoughts.

She turned her blonde head toward him, hair falling into her ash-smeared face. Her eyes stung from the presence of the tears that begged to fall, and from the smoky air that she had just escaped from.

But as she looked up at Cedric's face, taking in the worry in his expression, she forced herself to swallow down the painfully large knot in her throat. He didn't need to see her like this, not after how anxious he must have been waiting up for her to return. She forced a smile and blinked back the tears, when all she really wanted to do was curl up in a miserable ball and cry for the friend that she'd had to leave behind. "Hi," she whispered.

He knelt down beside her and cupped her face in one of his hands, his eyes distant and sad. Hermione wished that she could feel it more than anything; she ached for his gentle touch at that moment so badly that it hurt. "I wish I could hold you," he murmured quietly, so softly that Hermione almost couldn't hear it, "because you really look like you need it right now."

Hermione reached up and laid her hand over his. "I wish you could, too." She said. They locked eye contact and stayed there, just like that, for a long moment, and then a slow smile spread across Hermione's face.

He chuckled, dropping his hand from her cheek and sitting Indian-style beside her. "What?"

"Maybe…" her heart fluttered as her eyes landed on the book where it had slid away from her, and she reached out and picked it up, setting it in her lap. "Maybe you still can, since I have this."

His eyes widened as he looked at her. "Y-you're serious?" He asked, astonishment inkling its way into his tone. Her smile widened and she nodded shyly, looking up at him through her eyelashes. He looked at her, a wide, handsome crooked smile falling onto his face, his eyes positively _glowing_ with happiness. "Hermione," he said, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Thank you so much."

Color flooded Hermione's cheeks and she giggled lightly, looking down in embarrassment. She could still feel his warm gaze on her, and she closed her eyes, basking in the warmth of his elation, a small relaxed smile gracing her lips. He made her feel so happy.

Blaise's terrified face appeared right before her, and she was transported back to that library.

Did he make it out, too? Or was he being punished for helping her as she sat there, doing nothing?

_I should've reached out for him, _a bleating voice whispered despairingly in the back of her head, _I should've grabbed his arm and Apparated both of us out of there. _The voice grew louder, angrier. _He could be _dead_ by now, and it's all because he helped me! It's all because I didn't save him!_

She felt herself detaching from reality, sinking further and further into the dark place in her mind to berate herself_. _She should have _done something_, should have been more useful and clever to come up with a way to get both of them out unscathed. She let her head fall into her hands, her face buried deeply in her palms.

_"Be brave, Granger. You were in Gryffindor for a reason." _Blaise's voice echoed in her head.

_Oh, Blaise, _she thought, and finally the tears came rolling down, pooling into her palms, _I'm sorry that I'm not as brave as you think I am. _Her shoulders slumped; her chest burned. _I'm sorry I wasn't the hero that you needed me to be._

Warm arms enveloped her, pulling her into an even warmer chest, and she allowed herself to be collected in such a way. Her ear rested right where their heart was, and she could hear its steady beating. For one wild, impossible moment, she thought by some miracle that it was Cedric, but she knew she was wrong when they spoke. "Bloody hell, Hermione, what happened back there?" Scott's voice rumbled through his chest, tickling her cheek.

She curled up against him and he wrapped his arms tighter around her, rubbing soothing circles in her back and gently rocking her. She felt hollow inside, even as she cried, because she felt that she'd betrayed a friend. Despite everything—even though they'd had horrendous history at school, even though he had been a pureblood and she a muggleborn, and even though he was a Death Eater (most likely against his will), Blaise had helped her. And what had she done in return for his kindness? She let him get captured so that she could save herself. It had been a greedy, selfish thing of her to do. She should have stayed there and fought Lucius, that evil scumbag of a man, and Greyback, and then they could've both gotten away.

"I betrayed a friend," she sobbed into his chest, "and now he's probably dead and it's all my fault."

"Hush now," Scott said softly into her ear, "you're safe now, and that's all that matters."

She shook her head, trying to push him away while weakly saying, "But my friend—"

"Your friend would have wanted you to live." Cedric interrupted her. She could tell from the sound of his voice that he was still extremely close to her, and that he had never left her side for even a second. "Like Scott said, you're safe right here, right now, and that really is the only thing that matters." Almost as if it were an afterthought, he added, "So don't you _dare_ blame yourself, Hermione Jean Granger; whatever happened to your friend, I know for a fact isn't your fault." When Hermione didn't argue, she knew that he thought she had given up, but she was far from it.

She was simply too weak, too tired to say, "You have no idea how wrong you are, Ced."

When she finally calmed down enough that she was comfortable with Scott letting her go, she went back to her little changing room and took off the black dress and the heels. Another spell later, and her undergarments returned to their former mismatched bra and underwear. After a few more, her hair was back to its regular brown, curly state and her eyes had regained their coffee brown color. She Scourgified what was left of the makeup she had applied earlier that night and finally slipped back into her old grey cotton sweatpants and T-shirt.

And as she stared in the mirror after changing back, she was slightly disappointed that she no longer saw the striking features of Alyssa Malfoy, but the plain, ordinary ones that belonged to Hermione Granger. She turned from the mirror, sighing tiredly, and zipped up the garment bag, then brought it back out to Scott.

"I'm heading back to my dormitory," Scott said through a yawn, "I think I hear my bed calling to me. Goodnight, you two." They exchanged their goodnights and then Scott was gone, leaving only Hermione and Cedric in the Room.

"I'll start reading the book tomorrow," she promised Cedric, gathering her things.

"Alright." He said quietly. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him directly in the eye after her breakdown. She sluggishly made her way toward the door.

"Hermione?"

She froze, and she knew that she had to make eye-contact now. She slowly turned and looked at him, and her eyes met his. "Yes?"

His eyes trailed from her head to her feet and back up to meet her eyes again, causing her cheeks to flush slightly pink from self-consciousness. "I like you better this way."

Her cheeks were suddenly on fire for some strange reason, ignited by his genuine words.

_I like you better this way. I like you better this way. I like you better this way. _

His voice was a broken record in her head and his meaning was clear: _I prefer Hermione Granger over Alyssa Malfoy_.

Hermione smiled softly, her heart pumping at an unimaginably fast speed, butterflies soaring in her stomach at the thought. When she eventually found her voice, all she managed to mumble was, "Goodnight, Cedric."

He smiled back at her then, a ghost of the crooked smile she'd seen earlier. "Goodnight, Hermione."

She closed the door and made her way to the Gryffindor Tower, where she went straight up to her dormitory and went to sleep.

* * *

><p>"Hermione?" The girl in question looked up curiously from her Potions homework to see Lavender standing at the foot of her bed, her curly light brown locks of hair straightened to sleek, magical perfection and her face contorted into a look of anxiety.<p>

Hermione sighed and closed her book; the essay wasn't due for another three weeks anyway, and Lavender looked like she could really use a friend. And probably some advice, too, knowing her. "Have a seat, Lavender."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank Merlin." She fluttered down to sit at the foot of the bed.

Hermione regarded the way she was wringing her hands with a slightly arched eyebrow. "So..." Lavender still twisted her fingers, staring hard at them. Hermione sighed internally, knowing that this would be one of those times where she'd have to be patient to draw out the problem at hand. She asked the first thing that came to mind. "Is this about a guy?"

Lavender's lip quivered, and for a second, Hermione thought that she had changed her mind about talking to her after all. But then Lavender let out a huff and shot to her feet, throwing her hands in the air. "Yes! How did you know?"

Hermione shrugged. "Good guess." She replied. Then, "Who is it?"

Lavender ran a hand over her face, and then started pacing the length of the empty room. Back and forth, back and forth. Hermione gave her a slightly skeptical look, which made Lavender heave a huge sigh. "You promise that you won't be mad?"

Hermione bit her tongue to prevent herself from lashing out with an impatient remark and nodded.

The pacing girl smiled a little, grateful for Hermione's confidence, but then pursed her lips. "It's Ron!" She blurted after a long moment.

Hermione's eyes bugged out a trifle, an expression which communicated her surprise, but she put on a more passive face when she saw Lavender's blanched face. "Okay," Hermione said slowly, "but why are you telling _me _this?"

"Because you're his best girl friend," Lavender said, and then her face turned as red as a cherry. "Merlin, I didn't mean it the way it sounded." Hermione raised an eyebrow, which only caused her face to turn redder. "You're, erm, his best friend that's a girl," she amended quickly, and Hermione couldn't help but let out a giggle. Lavender laughed breathlessly at that, and her face regaining its normal hue. "And, uh, well... I thought I should run it past you first, since you guys have always looked like you would become a thing sooner or later."

Now it was Hermione's cheeks that flooded with color. "Oh..."

What in Merlin's name was she supposed to say to that?

Lavender's face fell. "You still care about him, don't you...?" Her shoulders slumped.

Hermione's face was suddenly on fire when she realized how Lavender had interpreted that. "N-no, Lavender, that's not it, it's just—,"

Lavender held up a hand. "No, no. It's okay. I get it, really." She sighed and plopped down onto the bed adjacent to Hermione's, putting her head in her hands. "It's because of that one time at breakfast, right?"

Hermione's blush evaporated. Actually, to be honest she had almost forgotten about that, what with everything else that had been going on lately. "No, Lavender, it's not about that at all." Hermione ditched her embarrassment; she could clearly see that this was important to Lavender.

As weird as it was.

Lavender peeked at her through her fingers. "Really?"

"Really."

Lavender's hands slid off of her face. Her eyes were slightly watery. "It's hard for me, you know," she murmured.

Hermione frowned. "Why?"

Lavender gave a watery smile. "Because I know how much he cared for you. How much he still cares for you." She sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap, picking at the red chipping polish on her fingernails. "I mean, look at you, Hermione. You're pretty and smart and you basically _grew up_ with the guy." She heaved another sigh, flicking a few pieces of fingernail polish away. "And, well..." Lavender laughed humorlessly, looking up at Hermione. A fat tear rolled down her cheek. "How am I supposed to compete with that?"

Hermione was silent, not knowing what to say to that. Lavender really felt that way? She really viewed Hermione as...competition? For Ron? Hermione resisted the urge to run to the lavatory to retch her stomach's meager contents of the breakfast she had forced herself to swallow down that morning.

Finally, the words came to her. They always did when she thought it out, after all. "I don't care about Ron that way. I used to, but I don't anymore." Hermione admitted. She saw Lavender's shoulders relax a little. "And Ron can be very...difficult to be around sometimes. He's stubborn and definitely not the brightest, but..."

Hermione pictured her freckled red-headed friend. His smile, his blue eyes. All of their adventures together, and his fear of spiders. She almost laughed at that last thought.

"He's got a big heart. And once you've gained his trust, you've gained a lifelong friend." She finished.

So what if things hasn't worked out for her and Ron? As sweet as he could be sometimes, Hermione just never truly felt one-hundred percent compatible with him. She had Cedric now, and Cedric was enough for her. Of course she'd always care for Ron, but like she'd told Lavender, not in that way. He deserved a girl like Lavender—a girl who could always keep him on his toes. Lavender was unpredictable, and Hermione knew that that was the kind of person who would be perfect for her friend.

"And another thing, Lavender." Hermione said, a small smile beginning to break out across her face. "You're completely mad if you don't realize how beautiful _you _are." Lavender ducked her head and blushed. "And just so you know, brains aren't everything, trust me."

Lavender wiped at her eyes and sniffled once. "Thank you, Hermione. You don't know how much this means to me." They sat in a contented silence for a few minutes, giving Lavender the chance to fully pull herself together.

She stood up in one fluid movement, walking to the door. Hermione smiled; she knew that look of determination better than anything. Lavender was ready to confront Ronald about her feelings for him. "Hey, Lavender?" She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder at Hermione. Her fingers rested on the door handle. "He loves Wizard's Chess and the Chuddley Cannons quidditch team."

Lavender gave her another small, grateful grin. "I'll keep that in mind."

And just like that, Hermione was alone again.

* * *

><p>A whole month went by. Hermione constantly looked around with hopeful eyes for Blaise's face among the Slytherins in the Great Hall during mealtimes and in the select few classes that they shared, but to no avail. He had not returned, and she was beginning to give up on the idea that he would altogether.<p>

But she hadn't allowed herself the time to grieve about her friend because of how busy she had been during that time, what with her usual workload from all of her classes along with researching a cure for Cedric. She was growing more and more nervous about him these days, her fingernails bitten down to bloody stubs from anxiously chewing on them. He was disappearing faster the past couple of weeks, a little less of him with each passing day.

His chest was almost completely gone now.

Still, though, he was always smiling, always happy. Hermione didn't understand it. Why couldn't he see how dangerous his predicament was getting? Her heart clenched at the thought of not having him around anymore. That couldn't happen, not when she was positive that she had the answers in that book.

"Hermione." She looked up from where she was ensconced in her beanbag chair in her library nook, the very book that haunted her mind every moment of every day sitting open in her lap. A lock of hair fell into her face, the same one as always, and she tucked it behind her ear, her eyes never leaving Cedric's face. His soft grey eyes were shining with concern. "You can take a break from reading for today."

Hermione was beside herself with shock that he would suggest such a thing. "You've got to be joking, Cedric." she let out a slightly hysterical laugh and held it up and shook it in front of him. "I'm so close to-"

"Please." The slight note of desperation in his voice silenced her and she slowly nodded and put the book down.

"Okay," she said softly. "Okay, I'll stop." A relieved expression flooded his face, and he smiled Hermione's favorite crooked smile (unbeknownst to him, of course). "But just for today," she added quickly, her face heating up as he chuckled at her response.

"Always the over-achiever, I see." He teased her. She merely stuck her tongue out at him in a childish manner, and stood up, trying to ignore how fast her heart was beating. She pulled out her wand from within an inner robe pocket and transfigured the beanbag back into the uncomfortable, rigid wooden chair it was originally.

Then she turned to Cedric with her hands on her hips. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"What, spending time with me isn't good enough for you?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. "You know what I meant."

He gave her a cheeky grin. "Oh, you're so cute."

Hermione's cheeks flushed. "You're a worse liar than Neville." she muttered, recalling how the poor guy always picked up a horrible stutter when he lied, how he shifted from one foot to the other in an uneasy manner.

Cedric quirked an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth lifting into an attractive smirk. "Now why would I lie to you?"

She crossed her arms, losing her playfulness. Her eyes fluttered to the floor, insecurity flooding her. She couldn't help it and she hated it, but she had never seen herself as pretty, let alone _cute_.

As she was the child of two dentists, she had been forced to wear headgear as a child. That, of course, resulted in ridiculing when she was in primary school, which didn't help because on top of that she had always been a slightly chubby kid. Well, by the time she was about eight or nine, she had finally managed to outgrow the use of the headgear and the extra weight managed to distribute itself when she reached a particularly large growth spurt. And then she came to Hogwarts and had to deal with Malfoy and everyone else constantly berating her because of her muggleborn heritage, her eagerness to learn and be the best, as well as her huge front teeth and unmanageable, unruly hair, which were things she had never taken much notice of until after the fact.

So, naturally, her self-esteem had never been too high.

She could feel Cedric's gaze on her and she knew that his flirty attitude from earlier was gone, but she was too ashamed of herself to look up at him. "You...you really don't believe me, do you?" Hermione's eyes filled with tears as she shook her head, unable to speak.

This moment was humiliating. She never wanted Cedric to see this side of her, this sad, melancholic part of her that had always yearned for acceptance. Even when she was among her own friends—sweet, honest Harry; goofy, stubborn Ron; fierce, loyal Ginny—she still didn't feel like she completely fit in. There was always a part of her that was afraid that they would leave her, and now that they'd done it once she was sure they would eventually do it again for good.

The truth was, she was tired of being alone. Tired of feeling not good enough. But no one ever seemed willing enough to give her a chance.

"Hey," his voice was gentle, soothing, but she still couldn't will herself to look at him.

A tear leaked out and trailed down her face.

He was right in front of her now, she could feel his presence without even having to look at him. "Hermione, look at me."

She couldn't ignore him forever, and she had never been able to resist him when he said her name. She lifted her head, her tears glistening in the light pooling in from the window.

Cedric's eyes were soft, softer than she had ever seen them, like liquid steel sparkling in the sunlight. "Don't cry," he murmured quietly, reaching out and cupping her cheek with an impalpable hand, "you're far too beautiful for that."

His words shook her to her very core and something inside of her broke.

Hermione shook her head roughly, stepping away from him. "You just don't get it, do you?" She snapped.

He just stood there calmly, waiting patiently for her to speak, unabashed by her harsh tone. His eyes were still the same softness as before.

"I'm an insufferable know-it-all. I'm a muggleborn. I'm...I'm..." She lost her fire and bitterness crept in once more, resulting in her voice becoming nearly inaudible. "I'm a _mudblood_." She spat the word rancorously, shaking her head in frustration. "I've already come to terms with the fact that there's nothing remotely beautiful about someone like me."

Her words hung suspended in the air between them, and Hermione realized for the first time that this was the first time she had ever voiced these deeply personal thoughts about herself. She turned away from him, humiliated and disgusted with herself for telling him that.

She was such a pathetic excuse of—

"That's where you're wrong." Hermione spun around, mystified by him.

If it were anyone else she had said that to, she would have surely lost a friend. But it wasn't, and that was the thing she had to keep reminding herself; this was Cedric. And that in and of itself made her love for him swell until she swore that her chest would burst.

He took a step toward her, his grey eyes calm like the sea on a summer's day; captivating, thoughtful, still with that lingering softness in them. "You aren't an insufferable know-it-all. You're a brilliant girl with the drive to further her knowledge of the world around her." He took another step closer. She was frozen where she stood. "Yes, you're a muggleborn, but I never once thought for a minute that that was a bad thing, because it's not." He let out a quiet chuckle. "And frankly, I never really cared for any of the purebloods I know anyways."

Hermione's face was on fire, her heart beating so hard against her ribcage that it was almost painful, and her breath was caught in her throat as he took another step towards her. Now he was only a few millimeters away. If he were alive, with a body and everything that went with it, she was certain in some part of her currently light-headed brain that she could have felt his body heat radiating off of him. "I never want to hear you call yourself that rubbish again because it doesn't define who you are."

Her eyes were moist now, her vision swimming with tears that were collecting at the corners of her eyes. No one had ever tried so hard to get to her, to break through the thick protective walls she'd built up; brick by brick with each snide remark and snarky comment, every sneer, every glare, every rude gesture or mean note or cruel hex directed at her.

It had taken years to build it up, years of her trying to get a tough exterior so that she could face the harsh reality of the world, and within the span of a couple of months Cedric had managed to nearly break all the way through to where she had been curled up inside all along.

And the tears came streaming down her cheeks when she realized it, finally allowing her to release her pent-up self-frustration and anger.

But he wasn't finished just yet. "You're sweet and loving and generous and you actually truly care about everyone, even the ones who don't deserve it." He smiled a sweet, genuine smile at her. "And that, Hermione, is why you're so unutterably beautiful."

She sniffled and let out a poor attempt at a laugh, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "Thank you, Cedric."

"No, Hermione," Cedric said softly, "thank _you_." His eyes shone brightly, igniting an electrifying sensation in her chest that sparked and popped as it seared its way through her veins. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, even though she wasn't entirely sure what it was that he was thanking her for.

And in a sudden rush of giddiness and insanity, Hermione's face broke out into an ear-splitting grin, prompting Cedric to let out a felicitous laugh that made her heart splutter. "I know what we can do!" she said excitedly.

His eyes twinkled with delight. "And what's that?" he asked her with a smirk, his humor still blatantly evident.

Hermione wiggled her eyebrows. "Do you trust me?" It was obvious that she had pointedly ignored his question.

"Of course," his response was immediate.

Her heart soared.

"Then follow me, Mister Diggory."

He easily complied, and after Hermione had grabbed _The Extreme Uses of Dark Magic_ from where she had left it lying dejectedly on the table they left the library.

As Hermione led him around the corner, she nearly found herself crashing right into Scott—luckily she caught herself at the last possible second.

"Hey, stranger!" he greeted her warmly, smiling down at her.

Hermione was surprised to see him, to say the least. "Scott!" She launched herself at him, tackling him in a tight hug.

His chest rumbled as he let out a chuckle, tickling her cheek, and then he released her. "Where are you going?" Hermione looked over her shoulder where Cedric stood, smiling at the both of them. "Ced's here, huh?" Scott asked. Hermione nodded. Scott let out another chuckle and rumpled her hair. "You kids have fun, and Ced," he directed his attention to the general location of where Hermione had cast her gaze a moment ago, simpering at his old friend, "let's not have any funny business, shall we?"

A sanguine flush blossomed across Hermione's cheeks and made her neck extremely warm, darkening to crimson as the two immature boys laughed at her embarrassment (despite the fact that Scott couldn't even see his chortling counterpart). "Bugger off, Logan." She groaned, pushing him away from her. He only let out another round of loud guffaws.

Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to fight the urge to smile and crack up with them. After a bit, he quieted himself, except for the occasional half-hearted complaint about how much his stomach hurt from laughing so hard. Eventually, he did truly calm down enough to have a more serious conversation with her. "Any luck?" He inquired, nodding toward the old book in her hands.

Hermione let out a tired sigh and shook her head. "Not yet, but I'm not giving up."

Scott nodded understandingly. "How about I take the book for a bit while you go relax? Maybe I can find something."

Hermione smiled gratefully. "That would be amazing," she said, handing it over. "Thanks."

"No problem."

They talked for a little while longer before parting ways, and then it was Hermione and Cedric again. "You want to know something, Ced?"

They had begun walking again.

He inclined his head toward her to indicate that he was listening, a half-smile on his face. "Sure."

"You Hufflepuffs aren't so bad." Hermione said.

He laughed. "Thanks, I think...?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

She giggled and pushed the front doors open, the entryway flooding with warm spring sunlight. She closed her eyes as a light breeze that smelled of sweet floral blooms and freshly cut grass caressed her face, drawing her outside to the grounds. She turned around and quirked an eyebrow at Cedric, who was still standing in the doorway. "You coming?"

He shook his head slowly, sadly, taking a step backward. "I'm afraid that I can't do that."

Hermione was disconcerted by his words. "Why not?" Her eyebrows drew together and she crossed the threshold of the school once more.

Cedric looked longingly out over the lush green grass that covered the grounds before returning his gaze to rest on hers. "I am bound to the castle." At her confused look, he explained, "I'm physically incapable of leaving the castle in my current state."

Hermione tried to hide her disappointment as she closed the large double doors. "Well that's not so bad, I suppose." She mused. "I guess we can go to the Room, then." He nodded his head, obviously relieved.

So they journeyed to their favorite haunt—_Oh, the irony_, Hermione thought—in cumbersome silence. When they got there, however, Hermione noticed that something wasn't quite right when she tried to summon the Door to appear.

The wall remained unchanged, the inconspicuous grey bricks mocking her as she tried with all her might to get in. It was as if it weren't even there, or...

_Or it was rejecting her_.

"Cedric, does anyone else go into the Room besides me and Scott?" she asked hesitantly.

"What?"

"Answer the question, please."

Cedric ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, someone else does go in there sometimes."

Hermione didn't know why, but she felt a surge of adrenaline slowly pumping its way into her veins. "Who?"

He opened his mouth to reply when the Door began to reappear.

Hermione's eyes widened when she realized that whoever was in there was about to come out.

"Hide!" she hissed, running to duck behind a pillar.

He gave her a pointed look, and she mentally cursed herself.

_You're the only one who can see him, stupid._

Suddenly, the Door opened and three people stepped out: an unmistakable platinum blonde-haired boy, flanked of course by his dim-witted cohorts.

Hermione's brows knitted together in confusion.

Malfoy? Crabbe? Goyle? What were they doing in the Room of Requirement?

But it was the fourth person who really had her reeling.

Because the last to appear, although slightly marred by bruises and cuts, was undeniably the very person she had been so desperately searching for ever since that night at Malfoy Manor.

Blaise Zabini.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Disclaimer: **Malfoy's ferrety self does not belong to me. :P

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen<strong>

* * *

><p>It took every fiber of Hermione's willpower to keep her feet planted on the floor as she watched Blaise disappear around the corner, knowing that it would be an undeniably massive mistake to chase after him. She was satiated momentarily by the fact that he was, miraculously enough, alive, but she was afraid that he might disappear again. For now, she knew that all she could do was be patient and wait for an opportunity to present itself where she could pull him aside and have him fill her in on what happened after she Disapparated.<p>

But right at that moment, there was a new obstacle in Hermione's way: What was Malfoy up to? And more importantly, what did it have to do with the Room of Requirement?

She turned abruptly to Cedric, crossing her arms and furrowing her eyebrows. "What do you know?"

He sighed. "Not much," he said, shrugging. "Just that Malfoy's been hanging around the Room for the past couple of months."

Hermione was utterly perplexed, and admittedly a little hurt. Had Cedric really known all this time without telling her?

"I don't know a lot about it, Hermione, I promise you." Cedric said softly before she could interrogate him further. Her eyes flickered downward negately. "You know I wouldn't lie to you, don't you?"

Hermione suddenly realized how childish she was being. She trusted him, and if Cedric said he didn't know anything else, then that was that. "Is there anything else?" She asked, looking up.

Cedric ran a hand through his hair. "Like I said, I don't know a lot about it. When he would come in, I would suddenly find myself outside of the Room." He took in Hermione's confused face. "Wait, it gets weirder. Once I was outside, I couldn't get back in until after he left."

"That's odd," Hermione murmured, thinking about how only moments ago the Room was rejecting her when the Slytherins were still inside doing Merlin-knows-what.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts of the new information she had just been relayed and summoned the door, hoping the Room would let them inside. It appeared without a second's hesitation.

They went inside and found their comfortable arrangement set up, and Hermione immediately curled up in her favorite armchair. And as hard as she might've tried to keep herself from doing so, she couldn't help but think about everything as she stared silently into the flames. And while Hermione found it all a little strange and mysterious, she had a creeping suspicion that whatever Malfoy was doing in there was something very dark and pernicious.

* * *

><p>"Cedric," Hermione said after a while.<p>

"Yes?" She could feel his eyes on her, and she turned to him.

"What's the first thing you want to do when you come back?"

He smiled. "Truthfully?" She nodded. His eyes shone. "Take you to Hogsmeade and show you what a real good time is."

Hermione laughed quietly. "And why is that?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions." Cedric replied with a chuckle.

She shrugged, smiling. "Only to get the answers I want."

He gave her a thoughtful look, his eyes twinkling. "You..." He shook his head, a small smile returning to his face. "You're something else, Hernione Granger."

She opened her mouth for further inquiry when the Door slammed open. Both of their heads turned toward it in surprise as Scott stumbled in. His eyes were wide, his hair crazy, and he was out of breath (which suggested that he had run all the way there from either the library or the Hufflepuff common room). But as soon as he locked eyes with Hermione, she could see the excitement burning in them.

In his left hand, he was clutching _The Extreme Uses of Dark Magic_ as if it was the only thing that held him to the ground.

She held her breath as he uttered the three words that would change everything.

"I found it."

Her heart spluttered and skipped a beat. "You found what, exactly?" Her voice was suddenly hoarse, her mouth parched.

He closed the Door behind himself and took a shaky breath before his face broke out into an ear-to-ear grin. "The cure. I've found the cure."

"Let me see it." Hermione held out her hand urgently, acutely aware of Cedric's intense gaze focused on her.

Scott walked over unsteadily, still trying to catch his breath, and fumbled with the book before handing it to her. Hermione opened it and a slip of crisp parchment fluttered out. She instantly recognized Scott's untidy scrawl when she unfolded it.

_Surge, amica mea._

She instantly recognized it to be Latin. Funny, everything seemed like it was in Latin when it came to spells.

_Arise, my love_, it translated.

"What does it say?" Hermione turned to look at Cedric, who had spoken up for the first time since Scott barged in.

Hermione folded it back up. "I don't know." She lied, gingerly sliding it into her front robe pocket.

Scott plopped down on the couch and held out his hand toward Hermione, her tell-tale signal to let him see Cedric. Hermione reached out and touched the back of his hand lightly with her index finger, and Scott smiled at his friend. "You'll be back before you know it, mate."

Cedric smiled her favorite crooked smile and locked eyes with Hermione. "Can't wait."

Her heart fluttered and she beamed at him.

"Neither can I." She murmured.

* * *

><p>Hermione cracked open the book, sifting through the pages to find the corner that Scott had dog-eared. After what felt like nearly two geological ages had passed, she found it.<p>

At the top of the page, written in faded black calligraphy, were the words **Resurrectionem Alica**.

"Resurrection Spell," Hermione whispered. Her eyes flitted across the words written across the brittle yellow-grey page, so old that the words, much like the cover, were almost illegible.

_Only the purest of heart, with true intentions, can retrieve a soul from the afterlife with mutual consent. It involves powerful earth magic that, if done even slightly incorrectly, will kill the caster. Every move must be exact._

_At exactly midnight on the night when the sky is dark and moonless, a circle of seven candles must be lit around a cauldron filled with the Elixir of Life, from which the soul shall arise, replanted into its mortal shell. Each candle represents a characteristic of life: joy, sorrow, anger, forgiveness, courage, strength of will, and love._

_The directions for the Elixir of Life are as follows:_

_Five cups of Wormwood Essence._

_Three Asphodel roots, beat to a fine powder with mortar and pestle._

_Stir three times clockwise._

_Bring to a slow boil and maintain it for five days. Keep in dark room to keep from contaminating unfinished solution._

_After five days of steady boiling, add ten scruples of fluxweed._

_Two cups of salamander blood._

_Stir once counterclockwise._

_Raise to a higher boil. Maintain for seven days._

_After seven days of steady boiling, three drops of honeywater._

_One powdered moonstone. _

_One drop of unicorn blood. _

_Stir once clockwise, then twice counterclockwise. _

_Slowly lower the temperature until the boil dissipates. _

_Now add exactly one drop of caster's blood. _

_Stir once clockwise. _

_Let the potion mature in the same continually dark place for two days. _

_After the two days are up, the potion is ready._

Hermione carefully copied down the potion instructions, and beneath that was the incantation that Scott had partially written down.

_Surge, cor de mei cor. _

_Expergiscere, oculos de mei oculos. _

_HALO, os de mei os. _

_Surge, amica mea._

While Hermione's Latin was a little rusty, she could tell that the incantation was deeply intimate. She knew that _cor_ meant heart, _oculos_ meant eyes, and _os_ meant mouth, but she was having difficulties piecing the rest together. It was something she would research later, she decided, after suddenly realizing how tired she was. She closed the book.

And had she been paying closer attention, she would have seen the remaining bit of text on the page.

* * *

><p>Hermione and Scott started working on the potion almost immediately. It took a bit of sneaking around after hours to peruse through the Herbology greenhouses and stealing from Snape's ingredients closet (something she felt terribly about and had to constantly remind herself that she would replace) on her part, but eventually they located everything that was necessary to brew the Elixir of Life.<p>

The next new moon, which Hermione puzzled out to be the "night when the sky is dark and moonless" that the book had been talking about, was scheduled for the end of the month, which gave her and Scott exactly three weeks' time to prepare for.

Truth be told, Hermione was beginning to feel anxious about the whole thing. Not the fact that Cedric would be coming back—it was literally emotionally impossible for her to be any more excited about that—but the fact that he was beginning to fade faster than ever. His legs and arms were beginning to disappear quickly. His shoulders had been gone within about three days' time.

He was so supportive and encouraging along the way that when she was with him, she could almost, almost forget about it. He would smile and laugh and help pull her through her worry.

They had also begun to grow closer than ever (if that was even possible). Their new favorite game was elaborate plan-making for things Cedric would do when he came back.

"I'll finish up my seventh year of Hogwarts with Scott and the rest of my best mates." He said.

Hermione nodded. "And you'll be the top of your class."

Cedric smirked handsomely. "Naturally."

They sat in contemplative silence, listening to the occasional pop and crackle of the fire as it slowly began shrinking into what would soon be smoldering ashes and charred shards of logs.

"I'll hug my mum and dad and tell them all about how helpful you've been," he said after a while, turning and looking at her with a warm glow in his eyes.

She looked at him, giggling. "I'll shake their hands and say, 'Why, it was no trouble at all! It's all in a day's work.'"

His grin returned. "And my mum would cry and hug you and reply, 'You're a savior, Hermione Granger. An angel sent from heaven.'"

Hermione smiled wistfully at the vivid memory they were painting. "Then I would say, 'Please don't cry, Mrs. Diggory. I was truly glad to help your son.'"

"Thank you, Hermione."

Gone was the amusement and the lightheartedness in his voice, replaced by seriousness and genuine gratefulness. Hermione's eyes softened as she looked into his, and she knew he meant it for much more than having just, in her own roundabout way, said that she was unutterably grateful for him.

She knew him so well now that she could read him like the back of her hand, and right at that moment she knew that he meant for everything. For having solved his riddles in the beginning. For staying with him when he was all alone. For being his friend. For helping to save him from his fate.

"You're welcome." She said, and she meant it. She wouldn't have wanted things any other way, despite the way her heart had skipped a beat when he had told her that.

* * *

><p>"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to be the caster of the spell." Hermione said to Scott.<p>

He furrowed his brows. "That's a dangerous job, Hermione," he said, his eyes shining with concern. "If mean, if you mess up..."

"Don't think about the negatives, Scott." Hermione said quickly. When she looked up and saw his somber expression, she gave him a reassuring smile. "And besides, I'm not called the Brightest Witch of Our Age for nothing, you know."

He chuckled. "I know." Scott raked a hand through his hair. "And you're the only one who could do it anyways, so I guess I don't really have a say in the matter, do I?"

Hermione overlooked the bit about her being the only one of them who was capable of bringing Ced back (she figured he meant that her title made her seem more qualified than him, which was completely absurd) and simply chose to beam at him.

All of a sudden, Scott's eyes grew as round as saucers and he dove behind a column. Hermione looked confusedly at him before glancing around the corridor to see what had gotten him all riled up. It was empty except for them and...

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise but she quickly composed her expression to hide her pleased smile.

"Hello, Hermione," a light, dreamy voice said.

Hermione smiled brightly at the blonde haired, blue eyes witch. "Good afternoon, Luna!"

Luna Lovegood had the latest edition of the Quibbler in her hands, upside-down, of course, and yet another pair of whimsical glasses settled on her nose. Small radish earrings dangled from her earlobes. "Here," Luna said calmly, handing Hermione a necklace made of a piece of white string with a few tiny heads of garlic tied onto it. "This should keep the Furnkel Wheedles from nesting in your ears while you sleep tonight. They quite detest garlic."

Hermione awkwardly took the necklace from her odd friend. "Er, thank you," she said, trying to refrain from breathing too deeply to inhale as little of the strong perfume the garlic was putting off as possible.

"You're welcome." She replied with a dreamy smile before resuming her reading and walking out of the corridor.

Hermione strode over to the column with a huge grin on her face. "You fancy Luna Lovegood, don't you?"

Scott stumbled out from his hiding place, looking a bit out of sorts. "What are you talking about? I just really liked that column."

Hermione simply smiled knowingly and tossed him the necklace. "I heard that it'll keep you from having Furnkel Wheedles nest in your ears."

She didn't miss the grateful look in his eyes before she made her way to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

* * *

><p>Hermione stared at the mahogany wardrobe at the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom in horror. She hadn't seen the bloody thing since third year, and it still shook each time its contents slammed into the wooden walls inside with a loud thump.<p>

Lupin, who was allowed to return as the DADA professor on the grounds that he switched places with his new wife, Tonks, on the week leading up to the full moon, paced in front of it with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?" he asked. Hermione raised her hand slowly. "Miss Granger?" He called out.

She cringed slightly and lowered it again. "That's a boggart, professor." She felt her brows draw together nervously. "Its true form is unknown because it transforms itself into the looker's biggest fear."

She swallowed hard, hoping no one noticed the way she was trembling ever so slightly. She knew what that boggart would transform into if it was her turn, and the thought made the bottom drop out of her stomach.

After all, what was she supposed to say when it turned into Cedric's dead body?

"Correct!" Lupin smiled. "Five points to Gryffindor for Miss Granger's perfect explanation."

There was a dark chuckle from the back of the room. "Leave it to the mudblood to know all the answers to everything," someone murmured. A chorus of quiet laughter ensued after the remark.

Normally, after enduring stupid comments like that since her first year, Hermione would have just ignored it and moved on, but she foresaw it as her chance to get out of there. She spun around quickly and walked as fast as she could out of that classroom, putting on her best hurt expression.

Just as the door was about to close behind her, she heard professor Lupin angrily reprimanding the offender, who was apparently in Slytherin, revoking his house of fifteen House points. She stood outside the doors, her breathing heavy. Her heart was beating erratically in her chest, the adrenaline of storming out of a class combined with the thought of the catastrophic disaster that would have ensued had she faced the boggart still coursing through her.

So engrossed in her own thoughts was she that she had yet to notice the other person who had entered the corridor, nor the fact that they were headed straight toward her.

She was abruptly brought back to reality when she felt her arm being jerked into an adjoining dark, deserted corridor. Her back was pushed up against the wall, and a hand covered her mouth to smother her yelp of surprise.

"Bloody hell, Granger!" a familiar voice hissed into her ear, and she calmed her thrashing limbs.

"Blaise!" She breathed when he released her mouth, flinging her arms around his neck. She pulled back when she felt him flinch, and looked over her friend worriedly. "What happened to you?" She demanded. "I thought you died!"

She then noticed now that she was closer to him that he was in worse condition than she had originally thought, nearly every inch of his tanned skin marred by purple bruises. She gasped in horror when she saw that his shirt had unbuttoned slightly and shifted enough that she could see a glimpse of a sick yellowish color across his shoulder. Tears sprang to her eyes as she realized how much he had suffered on her behalf.

"Merlin, Blaise, I never meant for this to happen to you..." She whispered.

He shook his head vehemently and roughly buttoned his shirt back up to cover up the offending skin. "It's okay, Granger. I would gladly have gone through it all again if I had known the consequences back then."

"What happened to you?" She repeated her earlier question, blinking the tears away.

His lips set into a grim line. "After you Disapparated, Greyback tackled me with the intentions of killing me. Lucius talked him out of it, convincing him that I'd be of much more worth to the Dark Lord if I was delivered alive. When I was brought to him, he was furious that you managed to escape. Your magical signature couldn't be traced from the library since it burned to the ground, but they identified you through the Imperius you cast on that house elf to let you through."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Why does Vold—"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," he corrected quickly, a panicked look on his face. At her questioning glance, he said, "His name's taboo now. Speaking it aloud will summon him or a couple of his nastiest followers."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she amended, "care so much about me, anyways?"

Blaise let out an exasperated sigh. "Why shouldn't he? You're best friends with Wonderboy for one, and then there's the fact that you managed to singlehandedly bypass all of the wards and security measures set up and sneak in under the noses of all of his Death Eaters as well as himself."

Hermione nodded understandingly—his explanation made logical sense. "What happened after they identified me?" For some unknown reason, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to stand on end.

Blaise broke eye contact, his eyes fixating themselves on a point somewhere behind her. She could see pain shining deep in their dark chocolate depths. "The interrogation began. The Dark Lord asked me about my relations to you and what you were doing in the Manor, but when I refused to talk, he let Bellatrix have her way with me."

Hermione let out a silent gasp of horror, her mouth forming a perfect "O", and raised a hand to her lips. She knew what that meant: the Cruciatus for every time he didn't answer a question. "Then what?" Her voice was a shaky, nearly inaudible whisper. Blaise closed his eyes.

"I was sentenced to death."

Hermione's mind reeled at the information, but suddenly everything became quite clear to her.

The secrecy about the Room.

Cedric mentioning that it was protecting Malfoy.

That night when she saw him escorting Blaise out in a suspicious manner.

"Malfoy..._saved_ you." She said softly.

His eyes snapped open and looked into hers. "Yes," he murmured. All of a sudden, she saw the light shifting in his eyes and he grew very frantic, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Listen, Granger. I've been trying to find a way to tell you this without being seen because I've still got a huge bounty on my head, after all," he spat the last part bitterly, "but it's extremely important."

The way he was acting was starting to stir fear in her gut. "What is it, Blaise?"

"Very soon, Hogwarts is going to be a warzone. Death Eaters are going to storm the school—"

Hermione shook her head, unwilling to believe such a crazy notion. "But how could they?" She asked. "There's enchantments set up all around the school that will keep them from stepping even one toe onto the grounds."

Blaise's eyes were wild now, and the fear inside of her morphed into terror. "You don't understand, Granger—they're going to come in from the _inside_."

The inside.

The inside.

The inside was...

Hermione's eyes widened.

_The Room of Requirement._

Blaise's urgent voice drew her from her thoughts. "The Dark Lord is planning something big, something that I don't even know everything about. But one thing is certain." Hermione didn't like the underlying tone of dread in his voice. "He's after two things."

_No_.

Hermione could feel the color slowly draining from her face.

"The Dark Lord wants both Potter and you dead by his own hand."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling is the bomb for writing this series.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen<strong>

* * *

><p>The next few weeks following her confrontation with Blaise flew by in an indistinguishable blur, and before Hermione knew it, the potion was prepared for its final ingredient.<p>

She sat crouched in the near-darkness of a rather spacious closet conjured up in the Room of Requirement. She, Scott, and Cedric exchanged looks. "Hermione, you've already done more than I could ever repay you for." Cedric said, looking at her seriously. Their eyes locked, and in that one non-verbal exchange, his eyes spoke volumes to her that he hadn't been able to verbalize.

Her coffee-colored eyes drifted to the knife in her right hand, mildly intruiged by how the faint light glinted off of the sharp, polished steel blade. "I'm not backing out. And there is nothing either of you can do about it, okay?" She replied stubbornly. "I have to do this." Her determined gaze landed back on Cedric before flickering over to Scott, who gave her a slight nod to indicate that the time had come.

She drew in a deep breath and clutched it tighter in her grip as she positioned her left hand over the cerulean liquid slowly boiling inside of the pewter cauldron. And in one swift motion, she sliced a small, thin line at the tip of her finger, flinching slightly when she saw tiny crimson beads of blood forming before solidifying into one large droplet.

Although she had grown much more accustomed to the sight of blood considering Harry and Ron had a knack for getting themselves into all sorts of accidents involving either quidditch or mischief, Hermione had always been a little squeamish about blood.

The ruby red drop fell from her finger and into the potion, and she muttered a quick healing spell to seal the cut on her fingertip before stirring the liquid accordingly, watching in awe as it began changing from cerulean to a glowing silvery color. "It's done." She said softly, looking at the boys. They nodded grimly in return before all three left it to mature in the pitch darkness.

* * *

><p>Hermione was curled up in a blanket on one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room, her worn copy of <em>Hogwarts, A History<em> carefully tucked in her arms. She had read and re-read the same paragraph about the addition of the Astronomy Tower probably one-hundred and fifty times in the past half-hour, unable to focus her attention on the text.

Someone let out a sigh.

"Hermione, you're going to wear your fingernails down to bloody stubs if you don't let up on them," Ron mused from where he sat on the couch opposite of her.

Hermione's eyes snapped over to him, startled, before narrowing in annoyance. "Oh, come off it, Ron." She retorted hotly, unwilling to admit that he was right (darn her Gryffindor pride).

His concerned stare was still fixated on her, clearly unfazed by her sudden snappish tone. "And on top of that," he continued, speaking as if she hadn't lashed out at him in the first place, which mildly surprised her since the redhead had always had a terrible temper, "you're reading _Hogwarts, A History_, which has always been your source of comfort during a crisis."

Hermione blinked dumbly at the boy, shocked by his accurate observation skills.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, taking on his most brotherly tone—things between them had fizzled out into nothing more than a completely platonic relationship, and he'd become, as Harry had been since they were eleven, a surrogate brother to her—as he said, "Now if that's not a red flag, I don't know what is. Is everything okay?"

The look in his blue eyes dared her to lie to him, but she knew it had to be done for Cedric's sake. "I'm just worried about that Arithmancy test tomorrow," she lied, giving him a weak smile, guilt embedding itself into her gut as the words flowed surprisingly easily from her lips.

It wasn't a total lie, though, she supposed—there truly was an Arithmancy test tomorrow, but she wasn't worried about it in the least because she could do Arithmancy in her sleep. It was the fact that the potion had been completed a week ago and the new moon was scheduled for the following night. If everything went as planned, Cedric would be alive and well in less than forty-eight hours' time.

However, if she were to make even the tiniest, most miniscule mistake in either the spell or the preparation for his resurrection, she would die and eliminate the possibility of him ever coming back. The thought was rather daunting, to say the least, especially when it involved possibly putting Cedric in danger (because if she were to fail, he would fade away completely and cease to exist in any form, which was the ultimate kind of damnation to Hermione).

But luckily for her, as observant as he apparently was, Ron didn't seem to have the slightest inkling about the inner workings of her mind, his face quickly draining of all color. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered wearily, rubbing his hand over his face, "you're right, 'mione." He stood quickly and made a beeline for the boys' dormitories, no doubt to attempt to cram his brain with the advanced Arithmancy equations their class had been studying for the past couple of weeks.

Hermione let out a giggle despite herself, knowing that he'd give up after an hour out of frustration before roaming around like a lost puppy to find Lavender, his girlfriend of about a month, to occupy himself.

* * *

><p>On the morning of what was sure to be one of the most important days of her life, Hermione found herself doing the one thing she did best when she found herself in a moment of crisis: study.<p>

Of course, she couldn't read more into the book she'd stolen from Malfoy Manor since it was currently in Scott's possession and had been since she'd reluctantly given it to him, upon his insistence, the day after she'd read about the potion and the spell, so she made do by trying to get her overstuffed brain to soak up as much information as possible about Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Charms, and pretty much anything and everything else to distract herself from the real issue—she was scared.

Actually, no. If she were completely honest with herself, she was _out of her bloody mind_ with panic.

What was she going to do if she messed up? Let Cedric disappear forever? Oh, and there was also the fact that she could, well, _die_.

Hermione took a deep breath and continued pacing the length of the woven rug at the hearth of the fireplace, oblivious of the threadbare trail taking shape beneath her feet after hours of walking back and forth in the same line. She really needed to calm down and stop being such a pessimist. Where was her infamous Gryffindor bravery?

She was the curious, selfless Hermione Jean Granger after all, and never, in all her life had she had such treaturous thoughts of backing out (setting aside, of course, the countless times she had tried convincing her stubborn, thick-headed counterparts of the Golden Trio to stop their scheming and leave things bloody well alone). This was possibly the most important task that had ever befallen her, and she refused to allow her cowardice to get the best of her.

Besides, the potion had already matured, and—she cast her brown eyes to a nearby arched window, walking over to it and peering out into the clear, moonless sky. There wasn't a single cloud in sight to obscure the twinkling starlight, and Hermione sighed, running her slender fingers through her curly tresses and pulling her hair into a loose bun, securing it with a rubber band and tucking a few stray ringlets behind her ears.

The potion was matured and tonight was the new moon. There was no avoiding her fate, whatever it would be a few hours from now, at this point. And she was willing to risk everything if it meant Cedric could have his second chance. Merlin knew he deserved it.

She looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room with fierce, magestic lions carved into its smooth wooden surface, and read that it was nearing eleven o'clock. Her delicate brunette brows drew together anxiously.

Where was Scott? They only had until midnight to prepare—

"_Oi_!" Hermione turned her head towards the closed portrait hole, an amused smile gracing her lips at the familiar yell outside. "Open up, you idiotic, hormonal bint!"

She laughed at the Fat Lady's indignant reply. "How _dare_ you speak to me as if I'm no more than a mere child's piece of artistic rubbish! I'll have you know that not only am I worth more than your entire house and everything in it, I was painted from the finest oil paints England had to offer at the time—"

Hermione chose that moment to step through the portrait hole, effectively cutting off the rest of the enraged painting's rant. "Scott!"

He gave the painting an I-told-you-so look before turning to Hermione with an annoyed look on his face. "Hermione, can you please tell your dense, moody portrait that I come in peace?"

Hermione sighed and looked at the Fat Lady. "He's right, you know," she said.

The woman crossed her oil-painted arms and huffed, "Either way, he's not a Gryffindor, so I couldn't have let him in if I wanted to."

And judging by her hurtful, slightly murderous expression, she didn't look like she'd ever been the slightest bit inclined to want to.

"I didn't ask you to let me in, you insufferable woman!" Scott exclaimed irritatedly. He gestured toward Hermione as he said, "All I wanted was for you to _fetch Hermione_." He put great, exaggerated emphasis on those last two words.

The Fat Lady gave a dainty sniff. "I wouldn't dare leave my post." She paused for a moment, almost as if deliberating whether or not to elaborate, before adding, "_Especially_ not for a self-righteous Hufflepuff, no less."

Hermione decided it was best not to point out the fact that paintings in Hogwarts, as the Fat Lady so eloquently put it, "left their posts" quite often. And yes, that clearly included the incident in her Second Year when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and the hypocritical portrait had fled to another painting for safety from the basilisk.

Anger flared in Scott's eyes at the insult she had not-so-subtly made against his House, raising an accusatory finger. "Now you listen here—"

Hermione sighed, stepping between the dynamic duo before things got nastier than they already were. "Enough already." She gave Scott a pointed look as she said, "I'm here, so let's go."

He heaved a disappointed sigh as he mumbled, "Alright, Hermione." As they turned around, he descreetly shot the Fat Lady a look that clearly said this-isn't-over-yet, which she replied to by haughtily crossing her arms and sticking her nose high into the air until they turned the corner, when her angry expression morphed into a pleased look.

"Well, that certainly was entertaining." She murmured to herself with a smile, mildly curious as to where Miss Granger was wandering off to so late after curfew with, dare she admit it (and _sweet Merlin_, yes, yes she did), the dashingly handsome Hufflepuff boy. Her round face promply turned a deep shade of red as she whispered breathlessly, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "Oh my, I had no idea Miss Granger was _that_ kind of girl..."

However, what the extremely mislead painting didn't know certainly wouldn't hurt her.

After all, how could she possibly know that Hermione and Scott were, at that very moment, hurrying to the Room of Requirement to save their partial-ghost friend from fading into oblivion?

They raced inside to find Cedric Diggory, the almost-Triwizard Champion, former Hufflepuff, fallen classmate of two years, and newest resident Hogwarts ghost (unbeknownst to anyone else, of course) pacing nervously. Although, since a large portion of his legs had recently disappeared, he looked rather more like he were floating gracefully one way and the other, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips drawn into a frown.

Which, considering the fact that he would most likely be alive once more in less than an hours' time, was certainly odd.

"Cedric," Hermione said slowly, her voice soft, "what's wrong?" Scott, who couldn't see his troubled friend unless both males made some sort of physical contact with Hermione, stepped off to the side to double-check that they had everything they needed to perform the spell in the room to allow the two some privacy.

When Cedric turned his head, Hermione found that he was more distraught than she'd ever seen him. "Maybe..." He stopped, swallowed and tried again, "Maybe this isn't such a good idea." He whispered.

Hermione reeled in disbelief. "You've got to be joking, Ced."

He broke eye contact and slowly shook his head, running both hands through his hair. "No, I'm not." When he looked at her again, his eyes were like twin hurricanes. "I don't think we should do this, Hermione."

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" She hissed at him, taking a step towards him, anger simmering dangerously in her eyes.

For his part, Cedric quietly stood his ground, squaring what was left of his shoulders. Hermione turned her back to him, rubbing her temples to satiate her oncoming migraine and dispelled her fury in a soft whoosh through her nose.

When she whirled back around to face him, her eyes burned with stubborn determination. "Cedric, this is what you want, I know it is! It's what we all want! And we've risked far too much—"

"That's just it, Hermione!" Cedric exploded heatedly, the loud volume of his voice matching hers only moments ago. She was stunned into silence. "You've already risked enough for me!" He threw his hands in the air as if it would emphasize his point.

"Listen—" she weakly tried again, intimidated by his thunderous voice.

"No, Hermione, _you_ listen!" He interrupted before she could finish. His face softened and he closed the distance between them to hover a few inches in front of her. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, but I'll be bloody damned if I let you—" he broke off, clearing his throat. "I refuse to stand by and watch you die for me." His voice was barely a whisper. "I'm already dead anyways, so there's nothing for me to lose if this doesn't work."

Hermione shook her head defiantly and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's already done, Cedric, and frankly, _I_ refuse to watch _you_ disappear forever."

His eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation and sighed in defeat when he found none.

"It's nearly time, you two." Scott said, and Hermione turned and saw that he had already moved everything from the center of the room and set up the cauldron with its seven candles around it. He nodded to her to signal that it was time for her to do her part.

She had already discussed with him the fact that Cedric couldn't leave the castle walls, and since the spell was meant to be performed outside beneath the moonless sky, she had come up with an alternative plan. Hermione squeezed her eyes and Cedric's words from all those months ago came back to her, reverberating in her head.

_Think only of that thing you want. Clear your mind of everything else_.

She blocked out everything—her fears about the spell backfiring in some way, the possibility of death looming over like a dark raincloud, Blaise's warning about the Death Eater attack, Voldemort wanting her head served to him on a silver platter as an appetizer for his terrifying pet snake...

Her mind was completely blank.

_I want to see the sky overhead_, she thought. She pictured a room with stone floors and walls and no ceiling, the stars winking at her from where they hung in the sky.

_I want to see the sky overhead. I want to see the sky overhead. I want to see the sky overhead_.

She felt the familiar shifting beneath her feet as the Room rearranged itself. She opened her eyes as she felt a piece of parchment being pressed into her palm.

"The spell." Scott explained simply as his arm fell back into place at his side. She nodded and found herself standing in the room of her creation, and she looked up at the sky.

"Is it time?" she asked softly, her gaze fixed to the dark sky to admire the sprinkling of stars that glittered above her, although she already knew the answer.

"Yes," Scott replied.

She looked down at the folded parchment in her fist and carefully opened it. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Cedric take his place standing in the cauldron, his worry gone. They both knew fear wasn't an option at this point.

A clock somewhere off in the distance chimed its low, brassy notes into the lonely night, signaling that it was midnight. Hermione took a deep breath and pulled her wand from where she'd stuck it through her bun for safekeeping, grasping it tightly as she recited the old Latin words.

"_Surge, cor de mei cor_." She began evenly, watching in slight fascination as the candles around the cauldron lit themselves, one by one. Her wand tip had also lit up with a dim white light after she had finished the first line, and after the seventh was lit, she continued, "_Expergiscere, oculos de mei oculos_."

She was startled when she felt her wand heat up in her hand, sending strangely pleasant electric impulses down her arm and throughout the rest of her body. It was almost as if she could feel her magical essence running through her veins...

She forced herself not to lose her focus, and glanced down at the paper for a moment before continuing, noting that the electric pulses grew more excited with each word and the light from her wand grew in intensity. "_HALO, os de mei os_."

The light from her wand tip was nearly blinding her, it was so bright. Steam had begun billowing from the cauldron, engulfing Cedric's ethereal form, but Hermione couldn't dwell upon that.

She had to finish this.

"_Surge, amica mea_!" She shouted with an air of finality, and the ball of light burst from her wand and flew across the room at light speed, encircling the candles—which promptly burst into roaring shoots of flames—and whirling around the steam to create a billowing funnel of fog. The force of it all sent Hermione flying backward into the wall, her head slamming against the stone and causing brilliant white starbursts to bloom across her vision.

"HERMIONE!" She faintly heard somebody shout, definitively male.

Who was it, Harry? Ron? She couldn't tell.

Suddenly, she heard someone else speak, their voice seemingly all around her at once.

**This is him? **

Hermione lifted her head and looked dazedly around for the owner of the knowledgeable-sounding female voice, her vision fading in and out, but couldn't seem to find anyone. It was then when she registered, somewhere in her disoriented mind, that she recognized that voice from somewhere...

Why couldn't she remember?

_W-what_? She thought, shaking her throbbing head to keep herself from fainting. She touched the back of her head with a shaky hand, her drooping eyes apathetically gazing at the sticky blood glistening on her palm.

**Your friend, the one you were trying to help. Is this him? **

She finally dimly recognized it as the same voice who spoke to her at Malfoy Manor when she tried to get into the library.

_Yes_.

**And you still regret nothing you did to try to save him?**

Hermione could feel unconsciousness beckoning to her at the edges of her clouded brain, but desperately tried to evade it for a few more moments.

_No_, she thought firmly, sliding down the last couple of inches to the floor and gingerly resting her head on the cold stone. Her hair whipped all about her head as wind continued to whirl around her, howling into her deaf ears. She dimly acknowledged the fact that she should feel some kind of pain in her head, instead of the absolute numbness she was experiencing.

His warm smile danced in front of her disoriented eyes, causing her lips to unconsciously pull up into a shaky smile as her energy began failing her.

"Cedric..." She whispered, finally succumbing to the lull of unconsciousness, her heavy eyelids shuttering closed.

And somewhere in the very back of her head in those last fleeting seconds before she was fully gone, she could have sworn she the voice murmur faintly, **Ah, but all dark magic comes at a price...**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Disclaimer: **What do you mean, I can't be J.K. Rowling?

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><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen<strong>

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><p>Hermione opened her eyes, blinking a few times to get them accustomed to the dim lighting. Her temples pounded and she reached up to massage them with her thumb and forefinger as she sat up and looked at her surroundings, using her other hand to prop herself up. Her palm brushed against cold, rough stone, and she realized with a start that she was in Dumbledore's office.<p>

Her headache cleared and she anxiously wet her parched lips as she pulled herself to her feet. "Hello?" She called out hesitantly. She took a step forward. "Professor Dumbledore?"

Only the sound of her rapidly beating heart and shallow breathing filled her ears. She took another cautious step forward, the deafening silence filling her with a sense of unease, and stumbled over a jagged corner of a stone in the floor. Her hands reached wildly for something in the dark, and her hands grasped something solid and firm.

Something glinted beneath her fingers in the dimness, and she realized that she was grasping a handle of sorts. She tugged on it, and it revealed a white porcelain basin on a tall slender pedestal. An eerie soft white light illuminated the room, resonating from within the basin's depths.

Something drew her toward it, and she did so willingly, ignoring the logical part of her being that screamed how bad of idea it was and how she didn't even know what that _even was_ (although she admitted to herself that she felt a sense of familiarity about it).

She stepped up to the bowl and stared curiously into its incandescent depths. Shapes that morphed and moved so quickly she couldn't identify each individual one swam within the strange liquid, and she bent her head closer to make them out. She bent closer and closer, squinting at the substance, and she almost thought she had seen what looked very much like Cedric's face flash across the surface, when she suddenly felt a tug at her navel—not unlike when she Apparated—and suddenly a weightlessness.

She felt herself floating for a moment in nothingness, a wave of calmness engulfing her as she became surrounded by the liquid. She wondered briefly if she had drowned, but then she began falling, falling, falling, her arms flailing about her as the calmness shattered, replaced by alarm.

She landed softly, surprisingly on her feet, and the foggy shapes fell all around her and sharpened into more distinct ones.

She looked up and saw a starry night sky, and found herself staring at the entrance to the Triwizard Tournament Maze. She felt like a sharp knife had been plunged into her gut when she saw Cedric hugging his father close by. "_Whatever happens in there, son_," Amos Diggory was telling his son as they withdrew from the embrace, his hands moving to firmly grasp both of his shoulders, "_please remember that I couldn't be more proud of you than I am at this moment_."

She heard Cedric laugh, and the knife twisted painfully. "_What could possibly happen in there that I haven't been prepared for?_"

Hermione felt like she was going to be sick. Her legs turned to mush but she urged them to move forward. She had to warn him before it was too late. "Cedric, no! Don't do it! Don't go in there!" She cried out, but her voice was suddenly hoarse.

He turned in her direction and she could feel heat rising in her face as he looked at her. She froze as he stared right into her eyes, and just as she was going to open her mouth and repeat her warning a little louder she realized, with a sickening jolt, that he was _looking _through her.

"_You'd better go, dad,_" he said, turning back to Mr. Diggory.

His father nodded his head and affectionately ruffled Cedric's hair. "_Good luck, my boy_." He said, giving him a weak smile before ambling off.

There was a thunderous boom of a cannon and the band struck up a lively tune as the Triwizard competitors rushed into the Maze, Hermione following right behind Cedric. She looked back just in time to see the tendrils of the bush regrow back together, and then it was silent. Cedric looked both ways before taking a left, and Hermione was about to follow him when all the shapes melded together again in a fog of whiteness.

She stumbled around the fog in confusion, screaming his name at the top of her lungs until her throat was raw, terrified about where he was now and what was happening to him when she heard a jumble of different voices.

"_Krum's bewitched_!" It was Cedric's, from somewhere to her right.

She ran blindly toward the sound of his voice.

"_Look out!_" Harry's voice shouted from her left.

"Harry? Cedric? Where are you?" Hermione croaked, straining her vocal chords in desperation.

But then a loud, alarmed voice bellow out, "_HARRY, HELP ME!_"

And Hermione's.

Heart.

_Stopped_.

"CEDRIC!" She screamed, and her throat felt like it was being ripped apart.

"_REDUCTO_!" Harry bellowed, and then it was quiet.

Hermione sank to her knees in relief. _He's safe for now. He's safe and alive, and that's all that matters._

Their voices were beginning to get jumbled up and bits of conversation were hard for her to make out.

"_You should take it_." That was Cedric.

"_You got here first_—" Harry.

"—_compromise_—" Cedric—

"_THREE_!" they shouted in unison, and Hermione's mind was whirling in confusion—

"_Sorry_—" Harry again—

And then Cedric, "—_graveyard_,"

"_No_!" Hermione cried out in agony, knowing what was next but it was too late—

"_Kill the spare_!"

"_**Avada Kedavra**_!"

And then all was silent, except for a dull thud of a body colliding with the ground.

Hermione let out a low, guttural wail, her fingers winding into her hair as she rocked back and forth, hot tears streaming down her face.

She pulled herself to her feet with fast, jerky movements, her breaths ragged and irregular as she tried to choke back her agonized sobs, her tears never once stopping in her haste, ready to bolt, before everything swirled around her into deep black nothingness.

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><p>Time passed in bits and pieces of consciousness and unconsciousness after that, and Hermione straddled the line between them for an indefinite period of time—<em>Days<em>? _Hours_? _Minutes_? _Seconds_?—before ultimately plunging headfirst into the darkness.

By that point, everything had blurred together and it was hard to distinguish the difference between her dreams and reality, so that brief moment where she could have sworn she had seen three achingly familiar boys' faces—one with worried chestnut eyes and soft, light brown hair, another with thick, messy raven hair and thin round wire-framed glasses magnifying anxious emerald irises, and the last was a boy with bright red hair and confused, terrified blue eyes—looming over her, or that time she had stared dazedly into the wrinkled face of a woman with a nurse's cap sitting atop her silver hair, could never have been anything more than a figment of her imagination.

And at last, she was floating amidst the inky space around her. She felt unbelievably calm and carefree, and was about to recline back to, perhaps, take a short nap, when something glinting off in the distance captured her eye. She shook out her arms and legs to get blood circulating through them once more before kicking her feet, propelling herself towards the mysterious thing.

Once she had gotten closer, she realized that it was a small, glowing orb. She reached for it slowly, but hesitated, a part of herself—the logical side—telling her that it was dangerous, whatever it was.

But there was something familiar about it that she couldn't seem to place, and her curious side compelled her to slowly reach out and grasp it. As soon as her hands clasped around it, a tingling sensation started from the palms of her hands where the strange, weightless, ball rested, sending electric impulses up her arms and throughout her body.

She shuddered impulsively as a warm shiver crept up and down her spine, and opened her hands to make sure she still had the orb in her hands, and suddenly her eyes were blinded by its intensity, her sight overcome by the bright white light. She closed her eyes and her ears were filled by a loud, shrill whistle—like that of the one on the Hogwarts Express—and then her name being called again and again.

"Hermione, Hermione!" The voices called, a crescendo of such jumbled voices that she couldn't identify which one belonged to whom.

She opened her eyes and found herself at the Kings Cross train station, although it was cleaner than she'd ever seen it, practically sparkling even, and it was utterly bathed in whiteness. She blinked her eyes a few times to adjust them to the brilliant light all around her, and after that she noticed a single figure sitting alone on a bench a short ways away from herself. Curious, Hermione walked slowly over to them, until at last she was close enough to make out that the person was a woman.

She stopped about a meter and a half away from her and gawked at her strikingly beautiful features for a moment. The woman had pale, crystalline skin and salient, ice blue eyes, her flawless heart-shaped face framed by long, thick locks of wavy, shining blonde hair that reached down her trim waist, and she wore exquisite robes made of sparkling silver thread. She looked up at Hermione and smiled, her red lips parting to reveal two perfect rows of straight white teeth. The familiarity with which the stunning woman regarded her surprised her.

"Have I met you before?" Hermione asked quietly.

The woman nodded, her smile growing, adding warmness to her beauty.

Hermione was astonished by the revelation and gave her a puzzled look. "I'm very sorry, but I don't recognize you."

The woman let out a melodic laugh.

"Are you certain we've met before?" Hermione asked, and she nodded again, before drawing up her glittering robes and standing to her full height. The woman gestured to Hermione's hand, which up to that point Hermione hadn't noticed was clenched around something, and she opened her fingers to reveal that same glowing orb sitting in her palm. She looked at the woman, puzzled. "Do you know what this is?"

The woman nodded, smiling, her glacial eyes shimmering with a vast depth of knowledge.

"You have a choice to make, Hermione." The woman said as Hermione's gaze traveled back to the orb, and Hermione's eyes widened with recognition at her voice.

She snapped her eyes up to the woman's face. "You're the voice of that door at Malfoy Manor!" she said, her shock evident.

The woman nodded and gestured back to the orb in Hermione's hand just as a train pulled into the station. They both looked at it for a moment before returning to their conversation. "You've gone through so much to reach this point, Hermione, but your troubles are far from over."

Hermione raised her eyebrows quizzically. "What do you mean?"

The woman's eyes softened. "You risked your life to save the boy that you love, did you not?" Hermione nodded fervently. "That takes a great deal of strength and courage to do. However, it came at a grave price."

"What?" Hermione asked. "What 'grave price' are you talking about?"

The woman seemed not to have heard Hermione's questioning at all, continuing on a tangent, "You have a choice," she repeated again, "and this is the moment where you must make your decision." She looked back at the train, and the whistle blew. Hermione turned her head, too, vainly trying to piece together what the woman was talking about with her vague words.

"Alright," Hermione said finally, returning her attention to the woman, "what do I need to do?"

"You can board the train to return to your uncertain fate," she said, "or you can remain here."

Hermione knew what that meant and began walking toward the train. "I choose life, of course."

"You haven't paid your admittance, Hermione." The woman called out to her just as she was about to walk through the doors, and Hermione noticed that her eyes lingered on the fist wrapped around the orb.

"You mean this?" she inquired, holding her closed hand up in the air above her head. The woman nodded her head. Hermione drew her hand back to herself and unclenched her fist to stare at the orb. "Okay," she said slowly, "okay. What do I do with it?"

"Just let it go." The woman said, taking a few steps back.

Hermione looked at her doubtfully. "But what if it breaks? And where are you going?"

The woman smiled knowingly and repeated her cryptic words once more, her skin glowing and fading quickly. "Let it go, Hermione."

Hermione stepped through the doors and turned around. She looked up where the woman was and saw that she was alone.

The train whistle blew once more, urging her to make her choice. She glanced down at her fist and the light escaping through the cracks between her fingers.

_Let it go_.

Hermione wrapped her other hand around it and stuck them both outside of the open doorway.

_Let it go, Hermione. Just let it go._

She opened her hands and watched the orb disappear, and the warmth it emitted left her body, leaving her feeling oddly vulnerable and naked inside as she retracted her hands back inside of the train. The doors slid shut in front of her and she felt the train lurch forward as it began its journey, and she watched the strange, iridescent, clean Kings Cross station disappear from view through the window.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, before hearing the voices from earlier again echoing inside of her head.

"Hermione, Hermione!" they said. "Open your eyes, Hermione. Please, just open your eyes!"

_Open your eyes._

_Open your eyes…_

And when Hermione's eyes snapped open, she found herself staring at the ceiling of the infirmary.

"She's awake!" she heard someone shout, and suddenly three familiar faces invaded her vision.

Her head ached and she reached up to touch the back of her head and found bandages wrapped around her head. Her lips pulled into a smile when she saw the relieved looks on each of the boys' faces, and she dragged her tongue across her dry lips before speaking, but she found it hard to make a sound. "Water," she croaked, "I-I need…water."

The three boys stumbled over each other to get the water, before Harry came forward with a glass. Hermione struggled to sit up, and the other two rushed to both of her sides to support her and she reached toward the glass and sighed contentedly as the cool liquid rushed over her parched mouth and down her desiccated throat. "Thanks." She whispered between gulps as she quaffed the water. It was only when she reached the bottom of the glass, rendering it empty, did she set it aside.

Ron and Scott fluffed up her pillows and arranged them about her so that they would comfortably brace her sitting position before all three took a seat around her bed. Her eyes shifted from one to the next and the next, taking in the dark circles beneath each of their eyes and their messy hair. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they hadn't left her side since she was admitted.

"How long have I been in here?" she asked quietly, her vocal chords still getting used to working again, although her voice came out much clearer after drinking the water.

The three of them exchanged glances before Scott reluctantly spoke up. "A few days shy of a month."

Hermione's eyes widened and she felt herself sitting back a little deeper into her pillows as she absorbed the information. "Oh," was all she could say.

"He…still hasn't woken up yet." Harry said after a brief moment of silence.

Hermione turned and looked at him, taking in the slightly hurt expressions on both his and Ron's faces. She knew that by now they knew about Cedric—obviously Harry wouldn't have brought him up if that weren't the case—and she also recognized the fact that she owed her boys an explanation. She looked to Scott. "May we have a moment?" she murmured.

He nodded. "Of course," he said, running his hand through his hair. "I reckon I should probably take a shower, anyways. I haven't bathed properly in a few days."

Hermione nodded and watched him go, only turning back to Ron and Harry after she heard the heavy doors close behind Scott. "I think I have some explaining to do."

"You _think_?" Ron spoke up first, his voice colored by incredulity. "First, you go off randomly for months and get more and more distant from us, blaming it all on studying for classes—which, mind you, was a very good excuse considering that it's you—and then you end up going into a coma in the bloody _hospital wing _for nearly a month! You almost _died_, Hermione! D'you realize that?"

Hermione closed her eyes and took deep breaths to hold back the tears beginning to collect behind her eyelids. She deserved his lashing out, and she knew it. He was hurt and for good reason. They—she, Harry, and Ron—had been best friends since they were eleven, and they were supposed to share everything with each other. What had become of them and their friendship? She hadn't realized how much of a rift her lies had created, and it made her heart ache with guilt.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, opening her eyes to look at him, her lips trembling.

"Don't be sorry, Hermione. Don't you _dare _be bloody sorry." Ron said harshly, shaking his head, his jaw tight. Harry sat silently beside him, a pained look on his face as he watched Ron break down. "We made you keep it from us. Well, mostly me." Ron ran both hands through his hair and let them rest there for a moment, clenching the bright strands of hair. "I was such a git to you, Hermione. Bloody hell, I should have just…I should have just stopped." He looked up and his eyes were red and shining with tears. Hermione blinked and a tear rolled down her face. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I know I'm part of the reason that drove you to being secretive about Diggory."

"And I didn't help, either," Harry piped up. Hermione looked at him, surprised. "I should have stood up for you that morning at breakfast when you found Lavender in your seat. I should have tried to talk to you instead of freezing you out. We all did. And it was wrong." Guilt was etched into his features and she could see how much the past few months had pained him.

"I played a role in it, too." Hermione said honestly, running the back of her hand over her moist cheeks. "It wasn't just you two. I made a promise to Cedric that I wouldn't tell anyone about him or about my research, so I didn't. You shouldn't blame yourselves for what happened, we all equally played a part in it."

They both nodded and there were a few moments of silence before Harry spoke up again, since Ron still appeared too choked up to speak. "What was it like, bringing someone back from the dead?"

Hermione contemplated his question for a minute, trying to come up with a proper explanation. "Well, it was tedious. Scott and I worked hard to gather the ingredients for the potion and it took what felt like forever to brew it. And once it was done, we had to wait until the new moon to even use it, and when I cast the spell, well…I don't really know how to describe it. I was just overcome by this tingling sensation and then a bright light flew out of my wand, and I don't remember much after that." She decided to leave out the part where the woman from Malfoy Manor talked to her, both at Kings Cross station and that night as she wavered on the brink of unconsciousness.

There were a few more minutes of quiet between the three of them, and by that point Ron had composed himself and was ready to engage in conversation once more. "What about you and Diggory? Logan mentioned that you two seemed chummier than you let on."

Hermione blushed. She wanted to tell them that she wasn't sure what exactly they were, that she knew they were friends but for some inexplicable reason, part of her seemed to yearn for something more than that. "We were friends, yeah."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey made her way over to her. "Oh! You're awake, Ms. Granger!" She smiled warmly at her before turning to the boys and pursing her lips. "What did I tell you boys earlier about your obsessive time spent at Ms. Granger's bedside?" They gave her shameful looks. She wrinkled her nose. "Now, go freshen up before you stink up the whole castle. I assure you that Ms. Granger will still be here when you return."

They mumbled their apologies and goodbyes to Hermione before shuffling out, and Madam Pomfrey laughed to herself and shook her head. "You've got some good friends, Ms. Granger," she said as she uncorked a bottle and poured a vile-looking thick brown liquid into a small paper cup and handed it to her. "They refused to leave your side until you were awake, barely eating or leaving to even change clothes. They'd all three leave at my insistence for classes and of course for curfew, but other than that, they were here the whole time you've been unconscious, waiting for you to wake up." She nodded to the cup in Hermione's hands. "Drink up, dear. That's to help with your headache."

Hermione downed the medicine quickly, gagging at the foul taste, but was grateful after it had settled in her stomach because, just as the mediwitch had predicted, it made the pounding in her head completely go away. "How much longer will I be in here?"

"Overnight, I think. I still need to do a few tests on you, and then you should be good to go back to your normal schedule again."

Hermione nodded before another thought occurred to her. "Where is Cedric?"

The old woman's features softened, but Hermione couldn't tell if it was in pity or thoughtfulness. "He's in a secluded part of the infirmary. I believe that he wouldn't want to frighten anyone while he's still unconscious and unable to explain himself."

Hermione nodded with a smile tugging on her lips. "Yes, I agree that he'd be rather embarrassed. May I see him?"

The mediwitch seemed to hesitate for a moment. "He's actually not allowed visitors," Hermione's heart sank at that, and she continued, "but I think you're a special case, after all that you've done for him." Hermione moved to get out of bed, and Madam Pomfrey came over and urged her to lay back down. "You may see him, Ms. Granger, after you're well enough."

Hermione sighed, but nodded all the same. She just had to wait twenty-four hours, and then she'd be golden.

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><p>The following morning, she was awoken by what appeared to be the entire Gryffindor house, as well as her Hufflepuff friends. She smiled brightly at them and her eyes took in all of the delicious food that surrounded her bed. "Surprise!" They all shouted, smiles abundant throughout the crowd.<p>

Hermione laughed and reached for a biscuit. "Thank you so much, everyone. This is…this is too much, really."

Neville stepped forward, beaming. "It was nothing, Hermione. We all missed you and we're glad that you're alright."

Hermione smiled and gestured all around her. "Well, there's plenty of food to go around, so let's eat and be merry."

And as she and all of her friends indulged themselves, Hermione was reminded of the simplicity of the joys life had to offer and how blessed she truly was to have so many people who cared about her.

After everyone had filed out—Madam Pomfrey insisted that they were being much too rowdy and loud for the peaceful atmosphere—the tests were undergone and Hermione passed them with flying colors. On the magic test, she was instructed to perform a few simple charms, and Hermione demonstrated the perfect wand work that she had always possessed, ignoring the slightly painful tug inside of her with each spell she cast. She figured it just had to do with the fact that she hadn't cast any spells in nearly a month, so she didn't mention it to Madam Pomfrey.

She was discharged around one in the afternoon, and went to the Gryffindor tower to change out of her stale clothing and shower. She was mortified by her reflection—her hair was tangled and oily after not being washed in a while, sticking up like an afro, and her skin had grown rather pallid after being inside for so long without being in the sunlight. She couldn't believe that so many people had seen her that way, but she decided that since none of them had mentioned it, she wouldn't, either.

Her muscles relaxed under the warm water as it rushed down her back and she massaged her fingers through her scalp as she applied shampoo and conditioner, working them through each knot until her hair was untangled. After she had stepped out of the shower and dried herself off and was dressed, she wrung out her wet hair and brushed it before twisting it up into a bun and making her way back to the infirmary to see Cedric.

Madam Pomfrey led her into her office, and behind a large painting in there was room large enough for a single bed, a couple of chairs, and a bedside table. "I'll give you a few moments alone," the mediwitch said. "but Ms. Granger, I must inform you that as of now, Mr. Diggory is unconscious and it is uncertain how long he will remain in such a state, or if he'll wake at all."

But by that point, Hermione had already stopped listening, and made her way to his bedside. Madam Pomfrey smiled sadly at the star-crossed couple before silently slipping out of the room.

Hermione's eyes were locked on his perfect face, the slow rise and fall of his chest. His hand lay limply on top of the blankets, and she sat down in the chair by his bedside and took it between both of her own. She smiled at the warmth radiating from his fingers, his palm, and on a whim, kissed each knuckle before leaning forward and tenderly brushing his soft hair out of his face. His eyes were closed, his dark lashes fanning out beneath his eyelids onto his pale cheeks, keeping Hermione from seeing his beautiful grey eyes.

She smiled at his sleeping face and held tightly onto his hand. "Hey, Cedric," She murmured softly. "it's me, Hermione." She didn't know what to say for a little while, so she just listened to his steady, rhythmic breathing. "I miss you already, and I haven't even been awake for very long myself. But I know that you'll wake up eventually. You're just like that—you don't give up without a fight. So I'll be right here until you open your eyes, okay? I'm not giving up on you."

She leaned forward and hesitated for a moment before placing a soft kiss on his cheek, her lips lingering on his soft skin for a moment, before she sat back down, her thumbs brushing over the back of his hand.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Disclaimer: **I don't own HP, okay? Okay.

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><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>

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><p>"Hermione."<p>

She blinked, unmoving, staring with unfocused eyes at the blank parchment before her.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I will not repeat myself again."

She emitted a sigh and looked up at the girl sitting before her. Naomi's brown eyes shone with worry for her friend, her dark brows knitted together as she gazed at her friend's vacant expression. She had cut her long dark locks of hair off to donate to a muggle company to make into a wig for cancer patients, her hair now styled into a fashionable bob. She tucked her hair behind her ear and reached out for her friend's hand.

"Hermione, you're worrying yourself to death over this." Naomi said softly.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not." She argued.

Naomi gave her a stern look. "You've barely left his bedside for the past month, only excusing yourself when Madam Pomfrey forced you out to attend your classes." Hermione's face burned shamefully at the truth in her friend's words, any excuses for her actions dying in her throat. "You've lost some weight, too, from barely eating. It's got to stop, Hermione. You're going to kill yourself if you keep this up."

Hermione roughly pulled her hand away from Naomi's, turning away from her. "You wouldn't understand, Naomi."

"Of course I understand!" Naomi exclaimed passionately, her expression showing the offence she took at Hermione's harsh tone. "Don't you dare think for one second that if the roles were reversed and I was you and Cedric was Andrew that I wouldn't be as much of an emotional wreck as you!"

Hermione whipped around in surprise. "What makes you think that Ced and I are like you and Andrew?"

Naomi's lips spread into an impish smile. "Scott told me about you two."

"But we didn't—,"

"Maybe not," Naomi interrupted with a laugh, "but Scott said that Cedric treated you differently than any other girl, Cho Chang included." That bit of information shocked Hermione. Naomi's expression shifted, softening a little. "Look, I understand that you're doing what you are because you care, but Cedric wouldn't want you to act this way. You need to come back to the land of the living, Hermione."

Hermione knew that in her heart of hearts Naomi was right—Cedric most certainly wouldn't want her to be on the brink of an emotional breakdown all the time—but she couldn't be bothered to think about that now. He needed her, and whether he was conscious or not, Hermione was going to be there for him. "I know," Hermione finally said. "I know that he wouldn't want this for me. I'll be better soon," she promised, "just give me some time."

Naomi nodded understandingly. "I know it's hard for you. Trust me, I know. But you've got to remember, you're not the only person he meant something to. Imagine how Scott must be feeling right now, knowing that his best friend is back but that he might never wake up from his coma."

Hermione nodded, her lips quivering. She loved Naomi and she knew that she was trying to be a good friend, but she couldn't stand being inside the library any longer. The walls were beginning to close in around her and she could feel herself choking on the hard lump forming in her throat. With shaking hands, she packed her things into her bag and slung it over her shoulder, barely glancing at Naomi's surprised expression. "I'll talk to you later." She murmured as she hurried past her, feeling the tears building up in the back of her eyes.

Hermione's feet carried her to the nearest lavatory, and she dropped her bookbag at her feet and slumped over a sink, her hands holding her up. She turned the tap on and splashed some of the cool water on her face, which had heated up as she found herself getting flustered. She took deep breaths and closed her eyes, just feeling the rivulets of water running down her face and dropping off of her jaw back into the sink.

"Why are you crying?"

Hermione jumped, startled, before grabbing a hand towel and drying her face. "Please leave me alone, Myrtle." She muttered.

Moaning Myrtle let out a girlish giggle and continued talking. If she had heard Hermione, she didn't show any indications of it. "It's about a _boy_, isn't it?" she giggled again. "The cute one in the private room of the infirmary?"

Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself before turning around to see Myrtle floating along in the air, her long pigtails floating along behind her head. "Yes," Hermione sighed, "that's the one."

"I heard the other ghosts talking," Myrtle said slowly, "and they said that he might not wake up." Hermione dropped her gaze. Myrtle let out another peal of light laughter. "If he dies, do you think he would haunt the castle? Maybe this very bathroom…"

"He's going to wake up." Hermione said firmly, looking up.

Myrtle's wistful expression faded off of her face, and her smile twisted into an angry sneer, flying to hover right in front of Hermione's face in an instant. "_Maybe I deserve someone_!" she shrieked. "_Maybe I should get a boy for myself_!" Her lips turned into a quivering frown, her eyes welling up with translucent tears. "But I'm just Moaning Myrtle. No boy would want _Moaning Myrtle_…" she blubbered before opening her mouth widely and letting out a miserable howl as she flew into her toilet.

"No, wait, Myrtle!" Hermione cried, but it was too late. Her heart clenched guiltily, but she had to remind herself that she was dealing with Myrtle, after all. The moody, unpredictable ghost was hard to console, and it was impossible to tell when the pleasant, giggling Myrtle would flip out and become enraged or depressed.

By that point, she had calmed down enough to leave, so she scooped up her bag and left, trying to ignore Myrtle's despondent wails as she walked out of the corridor, on her way to the hospital wing to see Cedric. She made her way back to his room without much of a protest from the mediwitch, ditching her bag by the door as the portrait swung closed and sitting in her chair by his bedside. She smiled at his sleeping form, reaching out to grab his large, warm hand and placing it to her lips.

"I miss you," she whispered, her breath lightly fanning across his knuckles. She drew in a shuddery breath and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes and pressing a gentle kiss to each knuckle before placing her head down on the soft mattress. "I miss you a lot."

And no sooner had the words left her did she fall asleep, her exhaustion overtaking her. Madam Pomfrey poked her head into the room an hour after the fact and took a step towards the sleeping Gryffindor, preparing to wake her and send her off to her dorm room for bed, before she saw the two students' twined hands and thought better of it. With a twinkle in her eye, she stepped out of the room, pretending that she had never come across them in the first place.

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><p>The first thing that registered in Hermione Granger's brain when consciousness took hold of her was her aching limbs. She blearily opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to get them used to the contrast of light around her compared to the darkness behind her eyelids, and lifted up her head from the crisp white sheets to look around, momentarily unaware of her surroundings. She was surprised to find herself still in Cedric's private room, but shrugged off the thought and released Cedric's hand to stretch her arms over her head. She smiled with satisfaction after hearing a few pops, her muscles groaning pleasurably as she stretched them.<p>

It was only after that did she decide to spare a glance toward Cedric, and found herself staring directly into his curious gray eyes. For a moment, she wasn't sure what to do or say, too surprised and still groggy after just having woken up to react to the fact that he was clearly awake.

He blinked once, his handsome face displaying innocent inquisitiveness. "Hermione Granger?" he asked, his voice surprisingly clear.

And as soon as he spoke, Hermione snapped out of her trance and tears sprang to her eyes, her whole body overwhelmed by happiness because he was awake and alive. She leapt up out of her chair and drew his torso to herself, hugging him tightly. When she released him, his expression seemed more perplexed than before.

"Hermione Granger," he repeated her name, slowly, "what are you doing here?"

Hermione had rehearsed what she would say the moment he was awake a million times, and all of the words seemed to have left her. In fact, all of the words in the history of the English language, it seemed, had abandoned her, and her mouth opened and closed a few times before a sheepish smile fell into place on her pink lips. "I waited for you to wake up, just like I promised I would."

Cedric raised an eyebrow, seemingly confused by this. "What are you talking about? And why am I—" He looked around and his dark brows knitted together. "Well, actually, where am I?"

Hermione let out a laugh. "You're in the hospital wing, Cedric. Madam Pomfrey had to put you in the private room so that you wouldn't startle anyone who happened to come across you while you were unconscious."

"Okay, I guess I see what you mean…" Cedric murmured, a thoughtful look on his face. "But why would I startle anyone? And why was I unconscious?" he asked, then sat up a little straighter in his bed as realization dawned on his face. "Wait a minute. Krum knocked me out in the maze, didn't he? Harry did say he was under the Imperius…"

It was Hermione's turn to be confused. "What does Viktor Krum have to do with you coming back from the dead, Cedric?"

Cedric's eyes widened. "Coming back from the—? What?"

Hermione gave him a puzzled look. "You _died_, remember?"

Cedric shook his head. "No, the last thing I remember was…" he trailed off, his eyes taking on a distant quality as he sifted through his memories to elaborate. "Oh," He said softly, bewildered. "Perhaps I did." He looked at Hermione, still utterly befuddled. "But I still don't understand why you're here."

By that point, Hermione was honestly feeling a little hurt. Why was he questioning her so much when he knew very well her part in things? He should have known better than to think that she would perform the spell and leave! What kind of person did he take her for, anyway? She cared about him, for Merlin's sake, so obviously she wasn't just going to abandon him!

"I performed the resurrection spell, Cedric, so of course I was going to stay and wait for you to wake up." She finally said, her tone coming out a little sharper than she'd have liked.

"Oh," Cedric said, apparently stunned by that. "Well, er, thanks, I suppose." He grew quiet for a minute before asking, "How long was I unconscious for?"

"Two months." Hermione answered.

"And…you mentioned that I was dead. How long was that?"

Her reply came out a little rawer than before. "Almost three years."

"Oh," He said. Another beat of silence passed before he finally asked, "Do you think you could find Cho Chang for me and bring her to see me?"

Hermione broke eye contact after he said that, her eyes pricking with tears. Of course he'd want to see Cho. He loved her, after all. She could feel her heart breaking within her chest, each heartbeat a little more painful than the last. "Um, yeah. Of course," she murmured, standing up quickly and grabbing her bag.

She was so stupid. Who was she to think that he was interested in her when he had _Cho _bloody _Chang_? Hermione Granger had never felt like such a fool in her life.

"Are you okay, Granger?" He called out to her just as the portrait swung open for her to step through.

_Granger. _He hadn't been awake for a whole twenty-four hours yet and she was already back to her surname.

"I'm fine." She muttered without turning around, her eyes already glazing over with tears. She passed Madam Pomfrey tending one of her patients and said, "He's awake now," as she passed her, taking hurried steps towards the door.

Just as she was about to open it, Scott walked in. Upon seeing her, he rushed to her. "What happened, Hermione?"

"He's awake." Hermione's voice cracked and she looked away, squeezing her eyes shut to hold in her tears.

"That still doesn't explain why you're such a wreck." Scott murmured, gently tucking a loose ringlet behind her ear. "Tell me what's wrong."

"He…" she swallowed and looked up at him, a tear escaping. She bit her quivering bottom lip before continuing. "He just…he just wanted Cho, Scott. I was right there for him and he wanted Cho Chang." And right then, Scott collected her in his arms and held her tightly as she broke down.

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><p><em>Author's Note: <em>Despite all my editing craziness of adding in things and combining shorter chapters into fuller ones, I felt that this chapter needed to stand alone like I originally intended it to. There is just so much that happened in this chapter that it needed its own space for the emotional stuff to get the proper recognition it needs.

I love you guys and I hope you're having a lovely day. :)

-Caitlyn


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Disclaimer: **Nope, I'm still me, which means I didn't come up with the magical wizarding world we all know and love.

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><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>

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><p>Hermione sat motionlessly in the Gryffindor common room, her eyes gazing unseeingly into the bright orange flames as they lapped against the thick logs in the fireplace. She had originally intended on doing homework in there for a change of scenery from the library, but she couldn't think straight. After re-reading the same passage from her Charms textbook fifteen times before accepting the fact that she wasn't absorbing any of the information, she set it aside for later.<p>

She knew she shouldn't, but her mind kept drifting back to two weeks beforehand when Cedric finally woke up in the infirmary. Her eyes involuntarily watered for the umpteenth time when she recalled that his only request was to speak with Cho Chang. He hadn't wanted anything to do with her and it stung more than she wanted to admit.

A week later, he had been released and rejoined the school population with her as his girlfriend at his side. Hermione had seen the meaningful glances they shared and the handful of kisses he had leaned over and stolen from her. Her heart ached and she was miserable, but nothing mattered more to her than his happiness. She hadn't spoken to him since that day in the infirmary, so she assumed that he was content without her in his life. It was a reality she didn't want but forced herself to accept because at the end of the day, she was still Hermione Granger the bookworm and know-it-all. She may have been smart, but she was as plain as paper while Cho was clever in her own right and beautiful. Even Harry had fallen for her before.

Scott and the other Hufflepuffs hadn't given up pestering her to sit with them, but she gracefully refused every offer so that they could spend time with Cedric again without her making things awkward. The truth was, she was falling apart and she knew in some dark corner of herself that her friends recognized it, too, but no one seemed to know how to help her. Scott had helped her the most out of everyone because he had been there the most throughout the whole ordeal, but she couldn't help but try to push even him away to shield him from her inner turmoil.

She stirred herself from her self-pity and pulled her robes tighter around herself as if it would block out the bitter coldness in her chest, pushing her unruly hair from her face. She felt a hard lump forming in her throat and she swallowed hard, but it only manifested and grew bigger. She saw it again: Cedric's lips ghosting over Cho's cheek and then her lips, and felt herself gag. Her whole body wrenched forward and she dragged herself up the stairs to the bathroom in her dormitory as quickly as she could, throwing herself on the floor in front of the nearest toilet.

Tears collected in her eyes and hair fell in her face, her whole body aching from the force of her dry heaving, but she couldn't stop. She felt herself choking on half-sobs that morphed into more fruitless heaving. Fifteen minutes went by before she collapsed to the floor and wept, pitifully alone and heartbroken as realization finally set in.

She loved him. She loved him. _She loved him_.

Merlin, she was so deeply and irreversibly in love with that boy, but he didn't want her. No one did.

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><p>"Hermione."<p>

She pretended she didn't hear, tendrils of hair falling in her face as she bent over her work. She guided her quill in careful loops over the page, the ink glistening with each motion.

"Hermione Granger, stop ignoring me right now."

The sharp tone startled Hermione, causing her hand to jerk and a bit of ink splattered off the tip of the quill onto the page.

"What do you want, Ginny?" She asked blandly, pushing the rebellious curls out of her eyes and looking up.

The younger girl had her straight, fiery hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her blue eyes held no room for argument from Hermione as she sat beside her. "You've got to talk about it."

Hermione shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Ginny," she said, "there's nothing to talk about." She picked her quill back up and went back to translating her ancient runes homework.

"How did you meet?" Ginny pressed, bulldozing over the undertone of warning in Hermione's voice.

Hermione sighed, putting the quill back down and looking at Ginny. They were currently sitting at a table in the library because Ginny had followed Hermione and insisted they set up their study materials there. "You're not going to let me study, are you?"

"Of course not." Ginny replied, wrinkling her nose. "You're going to make yourself a hunchback from crouching over books all the time."

Hermione shook her head and opened the flap of her bag that was settled beside her chair to stow away her belongings that were scattered about her workspace on the table. She stood up, causing Ginny to frown. "I really don't want to talk about this right now," Hermione told her, feeling tired all of a sudden. "I'm going to find somewhere else to study for finals and I suggest that you do the same instead of gossiping and trying to pry into my life."

Hermione collected her remaining books in her arms and was just beginning to walk away when she heard Ginny call out after her. "You can't keep it all bottled up inside of you forever, Hermione."

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her lips, her mouth curling into a humorless smile. Of course she could. And she would. "Don't worry about me," she said, turning her head to glance at her friend briefly before making her way toward the library exit.

As she stepped out of the doors and they banged shut behind her, she felt the smile fall away from her lips. She sighed and pushed her way down the corridor, dragging her feet up to the common room. It was nearly time for dinner but she hardly ate anything anymore anyway so she was just going to go to bed. She was rounding a corner, her head down, when she ran into something solid and her books fell out of her arms. "Sorry," she muttered without looking up, crouching down to pick them up.

"Let me help you, Granger," an unmistakable voice said, and Hermione's eyes went from his polished black shoes and traveled up to his grey eyes that sparkled apprehensively.

She shook her head and averted her gaze, reaching for another book. "It's fine, Ced - Diggory. I've got it under control."

He crouched down despite her response and grabbed a few books. "You know, there's a spell you can use that will shrink these down to size so they're easier to carry."

"I know," Hermione murmured, her heart beating quickly as she recalled the handful of times that he'd pestered her about it until she finally cast the spell herself and put the books in her pocket.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and found him regarding her curiously. "Have I told you that before?"

Her heart skipped a beat and she swallowed. "Yes, once when I was in second year," she said, choosing to gloss over the other handful of times.

That handsome smile she had come to know so well spread across his lips and his eyes shone with clarity. "That's right! I remember that."

Hermione glanced around the corridor for any other stray books. "Well, that's all of them," she said softly, scooping up the stack in her arms and standing. She knew she should have cast the spell to please him, but she was too emotionally drained. She brushed aside the immediate thoughts of the past few weeks since she had returned to her classes of the sharp pains casting spells would cause.

She was Hermione Jean Granger, which meant that she was a problem solver to the core of her very being. They were probably aftereffects from being in a comatose state for an extended period of time like she had been and her magical side needed some time to regenerate. She wanted to ask Cedric if he'd had any of the same problems, but she wasn't about to trouble him any longer than she already had.

He raised a questioning brow at her as he brushed his hands off on his thighs and stood, his lips twitching with amusement. "You're a stubborn girl, Granger."

She shrugged, blowing an annoying lock of hair out of her face. "People tell me that." She felt her cheeks heating up as she stared into his eyes for a few seconds, neither of them saying anything, and turned on her heel to hurry away. "Good evening, Diggory," she said in one breath as all her blood seemed to rush to her face.

"Same to you," he called after her retreating back, watching until she disappeared around another corner before walking to the Great Hall with a puzzled look on his face.

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><p>Scott and Cedric sat out in the sunlit courtyard on a lazy afternoon, tossing a ball back and forth between each other beneath the shade of a tree. Cho was in Divination at the moment, so it was just the two of them like old times. Sometimes when they were alone, Scott would fill Cedric in on things he'd missed during his absence. Cedric thought it was nice of his friend to be so patient with him, but he always felt like there were pieces that he kept leaving out.<p>

His thoughts drifted toward the bookish Gryffindor again, something that kept happening and breaking his concentration. Cedric didn't know what to think of his sudden strange fascination with the girl, but it started with the weird dreams he kept having every night after he woke up and she'd left him in the infirmary.

In one, he recalled Hermione walking barefoot in nothing but a soft white robe over a pale pink nightgown, noticing that her hair had been a mess of unmanageable curls as he watched her make her way across what looked like a grassy plain. It had been dark in his dream, but the moon was out. Parts of the dream had gotten jumbled up as she neared the strange, still lake that looked like a fragile sheet of glass. For some reason, they walked through a large hollow in the trunk of a willow tree that led them into a room with brown couches and a fireplace.

That room seemed so familiar to him for some inexplicable reason that he couldn't explain, and as he threw the ball back to Scott with ease, he thought of another dream where she seemed to have been crying. The pain he felt in that dream still felt tangible to him as he watched the tears run down her pale cheeks. He couldn't remember why she had been crying in the dream, only the insatiable urge deep within himself to comfort her through whatever means necessary.

"You seem kind of spacey today, mate." Scott said, and Cedric shook his head to clear his strange thoughts. "Is everything alright?"

Cedric realized that Scott hadn't thrown the ball in quite some time. He briefly considered keeping the dreams to himself, but ultimately decided that it was best to be honest with Scott. Perhaps maybe then he could figure out what they were supposed to mean. "Yeah, I was just thinking about some bizarre dreams I've been having lately."

Scott raised a brow. "Yeah?"

Cedric laughed. "I know that sounds peculiar, but the thing that I keep thinking about is that Granger is in almost all of them."

Scott's expression suddenly changed from humored to serious. "What kind of dreams are they, Ced?"

Cedric raised his hands as a sign of peace, recalling that his best mate was also friends with her. "Nothing bad, I don't think. Most of them are just us talking about different things in the same room."

His friend's eyes widened fractionally.

"What?" Cedric asked, mildly concerned for his friend's mental state.

Scott shook his head and the odd, stunned look disappeared from his face. "Nothing." He smiled a little and leaned back against the tree, tossing the ball up and catching it a few times before continuing in a casual tone, "So, you've been having dreams about Hermione Granger. How long has this been happening? Do you do anything besides talk? And what does the room look like?"

Cedric was a little surprised by all of Scott's questions, but indulged him by answering. "I've had them every night since I woke up. I mean, I hardly even know her so it's all very curious to me." He paused for a second to conjure up as clear of an image of the room as he could. "The room is mostly brown; a brown couch and recliners–two, I think–, a fireplace made of brown polished stones with a big rug in front of it, a couple of brown tables. It's a little room. Usually there's a fire going but not always."

Recognition flickered across Scott's face as realization set in. "And the talking," he said, bringing up another question. "Do you always talk?"

Cedric shrugged. "No, but what does it matter? It's just some silly dreams." He glanced at the ball that rested in his friend's hands. "Do you mind tossing it to me?"

Scott blinked before nodding. "Yeah, of course." He passed it to Cedric, who caught it easily.

"Should've been a seeker, yeah?" Cedric teased, throwing it back.

Scott laughed. "Too bad you were dead for the duration of your years on the Quidditch team."

Cedric let out a mock-sigh. "Well, there is that."

It was quiet between them for a while again, both seeming to be lost in their own thoughts. Cedric, for his part, went back to musing about Granger. There had been a few instances at mealtimes where he'd find himself looking at her from his table and he noticed that she barely ate her food. She would always put a little on her plate but never seemed all that interested in actually ingesting it. Instead, she would push it around with a fork or spoon for the duration of the meal and then leave.

Another thing he noticed in his innocent observances of her was that she seemed to observe _him _a lot as well. She would have an unreadable expression on her face when she looked at him and he always would avert his gaze so she wouldn't catch him watching her, but for some reason she seemed almost…sad. He couldn't understand why.

A few days ago, he remembered how he'd leaned over to press a soft kiss to Cho's cheek and Granger suddenly stood up and fled the room. It didn't make sense to him. Over the course of the two and a half weeks that had passed by since he awoke, he watched her lose more weight than he thought to be healthy and become more and more withdrawn from her friends. He may not have known her very well, but he couldn't help feeling sympathetic toward her. She must have been going through something really hard to shut down like that.

The memory of the night he'd accidentally ran into her in the corridor a few days ago surfaced to the forefront of his mind. The look on her face when she realized that he was the one she had bumped into was enigmatic to him. There were so many emotions that flashed across her wide brown eyes that he could hardly keep up. He registered her shock, of course, and he thought there was a glimmer of hurt there, too, but it was gone before he could read into it much further.

It had all been so mysterious and fast. She collected her things and seemed in a hurry to get away from him. He thought there had been a hint of redness that colored her cheeks as she turned from him to leave, but even if he accepted that as fact the question that arose next was why she would be blushing in the first place.

The biggest question of them all regarding Hermione Granger, however, was probably the most reasonable one. Why was she the one who brought him back? And why had she seemed so relieved when he woke up? It was almost like she really knew him, which was a perplexing idea when he knew nothing about her besides the fact that she was Harry Potter's best friend and the Brightest Witch of the Age.

"Hey, Ced?"

Cedric eyed Scott, who was regarding him with a solemn look, curiously. "Yes?" He opted not to ask why his friend had been so serious all of a sudden this afternoon.

Scott ran a hand through his hair and didn't say anything for a second before blowing out a breath. "You know those dreams you've been having, mate?"

Cedric blinked. "What about them?"

Scott shook his head and stood up. "Nevermind," he said. "I'm going inside for a bit to see about checking out a book from the library for Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'll see you at dinner."

Cedric raised his hand to fist-bump him before seeing him off with a wave. "See you then, mate."

Cedric was curious about why he suddenly up and left, but decided not to question it at the moment and tossed the ball up and caught it for a while on his own, leaning against the tree and diving back into his own thoughts.

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><p>A week later, Hermione found herself sitting in Transfiguration. She was barely paying attention—something that was not typical for her—but it didn't really matter since Professor McGonagall was going over subject matter ten chapters behind where Hermione had read to. Transfiguration was a breeze to her at any rate.<p>

"—and now it's your turn, class," McGonagall said. Hermione blinked the emptiness that had crept into her consciousness away and focused on the older witch almost apathetically. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun as usual and she was dressed in a set of deep red-colored velvet robes that reminded Hermione of the wine her mother and father sometimes drank when their work friends came over.

Professor McGonagall's eyes glanced around the room to make sure everyone was watching as she demonstrated the simple wand motion before clearly uttering the incantation, her wand directed at the quill on the otherwise empty wooden stool beside her. "_Flos mutante_," she said, and the quill suddenly transformed into a beautiful daisy. She turned to the class and motioned for them to start.

Hermione picked up her wand, which she had placed on her desk at the beginning of class and took a deep breath. This would be easy, she just had to relax. She adjusted her quill so that it sat perfectly in the middle of the polished wood of her desk before slowly drawing a semicircle in the air with the tip of her wand and reciting the spell. "_Flos mutante_."

A sharp pain shot up her arm from her right hand and she gasped in both surprise and pain, dropping her wand as the feeble spell dissipated. Professor McGonagall appeared before her in an instant. "What's the matter, Miss Granger?" She asked, the concern evident in her voice.

"It's just my wrist," Hermione lied, cradling her hand to her chest and gritting her teeth. She looked up and found McGonagall's watchful eyes observing her carefully. "I'm okay, Professor."

The woman pursed her lips at the obstinate teenager. "You are excused from this classroom to pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, Miss Granger. You can never be too careful, after all."

Hermione gaped at her teacher, the pain that pulsated up her arm momentarily forgotten. "But Professor, I haven't even—"

Professor McGonagall's expression grew very stern. "Miss Granger, this subject is not up for debate. I am also certain that you've perfected this particular spell on your own time, regardless of your protests."

Hermione sighed, knowing that arguing with the woman was a fruitless effort, and bent to pick up her wand from where it had fallen onto the floor as well as her bag with her left hand. Thankfully, she hadn't brought any extra books to carry and left the room after slinging the bag over her shoulder.

She was walking down a corridor in the direction she had been told when she found herself face-to-face with the headmaster himself. "Miss Granger," he said, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, "what a pleasure it is seeing you this afternoon."

"Same to you, Professor Dumbledore," she said with a smile.

He was clothed in flowing royal blue robes that reflected the light from the wall scones and shone purple. "I've been meaning to have a word with you. Do you have a moment?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course, sir." She followed him to his office—the password, of course, being "Laffy Taffy"—and proceeded to sit in front of his desk. She took a moment to admire the different knick-knacks scattered about the room as he made his way around the desk to his tall, straight-backed chair. He folded his long, wrinkled fingers on top of the desk and cleared his throat.

"I am aware that you were the one who resurrected Mr. Diggory, correct?" He said.

"Yes, that's right," she replied.

His eyes shone with curiosity. "This kind of thing is quite out of the ordinary in the wizarding world, Miss Granger, as I am sure you're aware."

"Yes sir."

"The last time a spell like that was performed was in the Dark Ages. The bubonic plague was running rampant and people of magical and muggle descent alike were dying." Hermione nodded, unsure of where he was going with his history lesson. "You've heard the story, yes?"

"A mother resurrected her only child—a son—after he had been dead for a week. Her actions were driven by the love she had for him and the desperation for him to live." Hermione said. She had read that in one of the many books she'd used to research spells to help Cedric, but it hadn't told her what spell had been used.

Dumbledore smiled. "Correct, Miss Granger, as usual." He reached up to run a thoughtful hand over his beard. "Do you recall why it was banned?"

Hermione looked down for a moment. "The woman died shortly after casting it. Her son was revived, but she gave her life to him in order for him to live." She looked from her hands that were folded in her lap back to her white-haired headmaster. "During the Renaissance, the Ministries of Magic throughout the world came together and decided to have it banned after looking back upon the case because the dark magic it involved was too powerful and unpredictable. All of the books that contained any sort of spell relating to resurrection were burned to prevent similar occurrences."

Dumbledore regarded her with interest, leaning forward. "Exactly, which is why I was curious about how you were able to acquire the information. I am merely asking for my own amusement, I assure you."

Hermione blushed in embarrassment when she thought about breaking into Malfoy Manor to steal the book. "In order to get the book I needed—which I wasn't sure even existed anymore—I had to break into Draco Malfoy's home to borrow it from his family's library."

He seemed surprised by her actions, but smiled nonetheless. "Sometimes we do things we otherwise couldn't imagine to help those we care about." He was contemplative for a moment before asking, "What did the process involve?"

"A spell and potion," Hermione answered. "The potion was the most complex because it was what molded Cedric's new body, but the spell was very powerful."

"I thought that the spell was the reason you were unconscious for as long as you were. Your magical side was reeling from it, no doubt," Dumbledore mused. "You seem to have done an impeccable job, Miss Granger. Mr. Diggory seems to be as fully functional as he was before the graveyard nightmare occurred during the Triwizard Tournament."

Hermione felt a pang in her chest and she inconspicuously forced herself to keep from blinking to dry out the tears she felt pooling at the edges of her eyes. "He seems quite content," she said, trying her hardest to sound agreeable.

If Dumbledore noticed the way that her voice wavered slightly, he didn't mention it. "I've also had the chance to speak with Scott Logan after hearing that he had a hand in everything, and he's shed some light on a few things as well."

Hermione's inquisitiveness was piqued by that bit of information. "Like what, Professor?"

"Mr. Logan mentioned something about Cedric's ghostly appearance fading and disappearing."

Hermione remembered it all too well. "Yes."

"He explained to me that it had gradually gotten worse until he began missing pieces of his body in some places." Hermione nodded, her eyes unseeing as she saw the gradual deterioration happen in her mind in a matter of seconds all over again. "I have come up with what I believe to be a very possible theory for what the phenomenon was. Granted, I have never had anything prior to this to compare my observations to, but it seems quite possible."

Hermione leaned forward in her chair, as if getting closer to the older man would somehow transpose his thoughts to her. "What is your theory?"

"Well, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, straightening his back and leaning back once more, "I believe that the fading and disappearing of his ghostly body transferred over to his physical body." Hermione blinked, confused for a moment but staying silent in the hopes that he would explain further. "Mr. Diggory can't remember anything prior to his death because each day that his body faded caused him to forget events that happened afterwards. There are some memories that he will never regain—which were represented by the holes in his form—and some that may come back to him in time. It's difficult to tell at this point in time, as I'm sure you understand, Miss Granger."

But Hermione had disappeared within herself long ago as the reality of what had happened set in, drowning in despair and panic.

Cedric didn't ask for Cho because he didn't give two knuts for Hermione. He asked for her because he didn't remember anything about being friends with her.

The last thing Hermione remembered was focusing on one little dust particle lazily floating in a ray of sunlight that streamed in through a window before she fell sideways and smacked her head on the wooden floor of the headmaster's office. Then, everything was engulfed in darkness and she didn't feel anything.

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><p><em>Author's Note:<em> Hi. Please don't kill me, guys. I know it's been longer than it should have been for me to update—over a year—but I've had horrible writer's block. I didn't know how exactly I wanted to go about this chapter and life has happened between my last update and now so I've been busy. I've gone to birthday parties, funerals, my first prom, watched my best friend in the entire world drive away as she moved across the state after she graduated from high school, and a whole bunch of other stuff that doesn't really matter in the context of my apology.

I tried to make up for it with this long chapter (it's almost ten pages in Microsoft Word!) if that means anything. :)

For those of you who have stuck it out despite all of this time that's gone by, thank you so much. I appreciate your support more than you know and I genuinely mean that. I've recently been looking at my reviews and been stunned again and again by all of your encouragement. I love you guys so much that I'm tearing up right now, haha. :')

I'm going to try to start updating more regularly again because believe it or not, this story is actually nearly over! That's insane to think about. I'm shooting for once a week because I love you guys and you deserve that.

Alright, I'll be quiet now and end my author's note here, but I want to tell you again before I go how much I appreciate each and every one of you. Yes, including _you_. *pokes screen with a smile*

What did you think about that nice little cliffhanger and Dumbledore's theory? Any other theories for what's going on? Only time will tell…

Bye, guys. :D

-Caitlyn


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. Thank goodness J.K. Rowling exists.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty<strong>

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><p>"Cedric," Cho murmured, her voice soft. He turned to look into her anxious almond-shaped brown eyes. "Did you hear what I just said?"<p>

Cedric had been looking at the Gryffindor table again, his eyes greeted by Granger's empty chair. He was innocently curious about where she was because he had just seen her a few hours earlier on her way to one of her classes. Neville Longbottom had been talking animatedly with her and she was nodding along but Cedric noticed that her mind seemed far away.

He shook his head. She was probably studying or something like that. "Sorry, Cho," he said, smiling slightly embarrassedly at her. "Do you mind repeating that for me?"

She smiled, relieved, and recounted how her day went once more.

Cedric felt conflicted, his mind drifting again. He cared for Cho very much, but there was something about the Granger girl that kept capturing his attention. She wasn't extraordinarily beautiful, but she had a simple prettiness in the light freckles that dotted her cheeks and the rebellious mousy-colored ringlets that fell in her face. She had ordinary brown eyes, but he noticed that when they captured the light, they looked almost like amber.

His fixation on her was undoubtedly strange, but he couldn't help the inexplicable attraction he felt toward her. He racked his brain for any instances where he had found her appealing before he died—which was still a bizarre thing to consider itself—but he always came up with nothing. There was just something magnetic about her that drew him to her.

It was an innocuous thing that occupied his mind more often than not. He didn't exactly fancy her, but there was something in the way that she would blow the fringe out of her eyes and gingerly handle each page of the large books she carried around that made him want to learn more about her despite that he felt like he genuinely understood her when they'd only talked a handful of times.

And then there were his dreams. Last night's was one of the oddest ones he'd had in a while. It had been composed of bits and pieces that seemed disjointed and unconnected, but there was a part of him aching to put it all together. She had been in it, of course, but only in fragmented flashes.

She looked normal first, and suddenly it blurred together and her hair was platinum blonde and piled into a complicated updo, her brown eyes changed to striking blue-grey framed by long, dark lashes, and her smiling lips were painted a deep, sensual shade of red. He had barely gotten the chance to get a good look at the tight-fitting dress that clung to her small waist before everything swirled together again.

There she was again, her face smeared with what looked like ash and tendrils of blonde hair falling loose from the elegant twist, falling forward to the ground but catching herself on her hands. Cedric remembered rushing forward to her when he noticed her distress, his heart plummeting to the ground when he saw the tears swimming in her eyes. He had wanted to wrap her up in his arms to protect her from whatever had hurt her, and just when he was about to say something, everything went black again and, much to his frustration, he woke up in his dormitory.

He noticed movement to his left and saw Scott moving to leave the bench. "Where are you going now?"

Scott's brows were drawn together with worry. "I'm going to see if I can find Hermione because," he glanced over at the Gryffindor table where Ron Weasley and Harry Potter seemed perfectly content in their own conversations, "they seem preoccupied with their girlfriends at the moment."

Cedric didn't know why he did it, but he suddenly stood up. "I'll help you," he offered. He briefly looked at Cho and found her staring at him in surprise before looking back at Scott. "I never properly thanked her for what she did for me, at any rate."

Naomi, Andrew, and Aiden followed suit. "We want to help, too," Naomi said, pushing some of her dark hair behind her ear.

Scott smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Thanks, guys, but I think Ced and I can take care of this." Naomi opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off by adding, "We don't want to overwhelm the poor girl."

Andrew put his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She wrinkled her nose playfully at him as he said, his blue eyes shining, "You two go ahead, then. I think I can handle her."

Aiden looked between them and sighed, rolling his brown eyes at the couple's public display of affection. "I guess I'll third wheel these losers again." He muttered, but the group knew that their tan friend meant it fondly.

Once they had settled back into their seats, they bid the other two boys goodbye before they made their way to the library. "She goes here a lot," Scott informed Cedric, who nodded.

"Makes sense." He said as they walked inside. He glanced around for a moment before asking, "Where would she be in here?"

Scott pointed in the direction of a few visible bookshelves in the labyrinthine library. "Over there. She has a special place she always goes just through here," he said, guiding Cedric toward Hermione's alcove. They were both surprised to find it empty, even after Scott scanned the area for any chairs that had been transfigured into bean bags. "She always does that," he told Cedric with a shrug.

"Well," Cedric said after a moment, walking among a few rows of shelves before poking his head around to look at his friend, "I don't think she's here." Scott shook his head in agreement. "Should we check the Gryffindor commons?"

Scott shrugged his shoulders again. "Sounds like a reasonable idea to me," he answered, leading the way back toward the entrance.

They walked along the corridors in silence until they came to the painting of the Fat Lady that hung over the hole that led to the Gryffindor common room. She squinted her oil-painted eyes at them inquisitively before recognizing Scott.

Her expression softened fractionally, her cheeks blushing slightly as she said, "Looking for the Granger girl in broad daylight, are you?" She shook her head with a smirk, clicking her tongue. "I never knew Hufflepuffs were so daring and..." she looked Scott up and down while he stood in front of the portrait with a horrified look on his face as her innuendo set in, "_romantic_."

Scott stuttered incredulously few times before finally managing to stammer, "What the bloody hell are you going off about, you insane bint?"

Cedric covered his mouth to hide his smile, chuckling quietly. Scott slanted his eyes over to his friend with a deathly stare of annoyance and Cedric did his best to compose himself. When Scott looked away again, Cedric couldn't fight the smile that caused the corners of his lips to twitch anymore.

The painting raised an unimpressed brow. "I also assumed that Hufflepuffs were supposed to be friendly and honest, but I see that I was clearly mistaken."

Scott narrowed his eyes at her and pointed a finger up toward her. "Listen here, you old bat. All I came here to do was ask you a question. Do you think you can handle that?"

She lifted her nose in the air in an insulted manner. "That depends on whether or not you're capable of at least _attempting _to be civil, you insufferable child."

Cedric pushed Scott aside when he let out an indignant snort, putting on his most charismatic smile. The painting's eyes widened as she shifted her attention to the other boy. "I apologize for my friend Scott. He can be a little difficult to deal with sometimes, but he means well," Cedric said apologetically.

"Oh," she replied, her posture relaxing, "that's quite alright." She glanced tastelessly over at Scott before looking at Cedric again. "I deal with aggravating students all the time."

Scott narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms, forcibly keeping himself quiet so Cedric could charm the answer they wanted out of her. "Have you seen Hermione Granger today?"

The Fat Lady shook her head. "Not since this morning, no. Why do you ask?"

Cedric and Scott exchanged a weary look before Cedric said, "We wanted to talk to her about something. Thank you for your help."

She blushed and batted her eyelashes at him. "You're quite welcome."

The boys left her to her daydreaming and began their search again. They looked in a few empty classrooms before Scott suggested that they check the Room of Requirement. Cedric gave him a skeptical look. "You've been there before?"

Scott shrugged noncommittally. "Yeah, so?"

Cedric blinked in surprise. "Nothing, mate." He said. "I just thought I was the only one who'd ever been there." They were walking down the corridor that Cedric recognized as he told him, "I used to go there when I was in the Tournament. The stress would grate my nerves until I couldn't take it anymore, so I'd—" he stopped for a minute, the strangest feeling of déjà vu coming over him as he said that. Those words felt so familiar to him, as if he'd said them before, but he didn't know how that was possible when he'd never talked about it with anyone before.

They stopped in front of the wall where the door would appear and Scott gave him a look. "You okay?"

Cedric nodding, exhaling. It was just some freak thing, that's all. "Yeah."

Even as he thought that, for some reason his mind drifted to an image of Hermione's curious face sitting on one of the brown couches from his dream, firelight reflecting off of her face.

"The door isn't materializing." Scott said, and the boys mirrored each other's puzzled expressions.

"Someone's probably already in there," Cedric told him.

Scott's brows drew together, nonplussed. "D'you think it's her?"

"Granger?" Cedric asked. Scott nodded. "No."

They stood there in silence for a moment before Scott sighed. "Where could she be?"

Cedric looked at the wall where the door seemingly refused to materialize and thought of all the places she could have wandered off to besides those they had already checked. He looked at Scott. "Maybe she's in the hospital wing."

Scott gave him a sardonic look. "Why would she be there? She didn't seem sick this morning." He deadpanned, sarcasm evident in his tone.

"Maybe something happened in one of her classes," Cedric suggested. "Things go wrong all the time. Accidents happen."

Scott seemed to consider Cedric's idea for a moment before shrugging. "I don't see why we can't at least check."

With that, they turned and left the corridor.

Had they been paying closer attention, they would have noticed that the door finally materialized and the knob turned to quietly open it, a few shadows creeping out and noiselessly skulking down the hall in the opposite direction.

Hermione shot up and was immediately met with a dizzying headache. She placed her face in her hands for a moment to gather her bearings before lifting it and opening her eyes to find herself in a sterile white bed in the hospital wing. She was met by the unsmiling faces of Madame Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall.

"How do you feel, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked her, concern laced into his question.

She blinked a few times to get her eyes to adjust to the bright whiteness in the room before replying, "Fine. A little lightheaded." Her back ached and her right hand was still throbbing from earlier for some reason.

"Do you think you could perform a few spells for a quick evaluation before you're discharged?" Madame Pomfrey asked, her expression riddled with unease.

McGonagall looked at her incredulously. "Poppy, I don't think Miss Granger is any condition to—"

"Minerva, please," Dumbledore interrupted, and Professor McGonagall turned to him.

"I apologize, Albus, but have either of you forgotten what I told you occurred in my class this afternoon?" McGonagall demanded sternly.

Hermione looked between the three adults in confusion. "I only fainted," she said. "I think I can cast a handful of spells."

They turned to her in surprise. "Are you sure?" Madame Pomfrey asked her.

Hermione's face was set in determination. "I'll be fine."

"Miss Granger, I'm asking you to please reconsider—" Professor McGonagall began, but Dumbledore held up a hand to her to silence her.

"She has decided for herself, Minerva." He told her solemnly, his voice soothing and quiet.

Hermione looked around for her wand but couldn't see it anywhere. "Where's my wand?"

Madame Pomfrey pulled it out of one of her robe pockets and handed it to her. "Here."

Hermione accepted it gratefully. "Thank you." She examined it to make sure she hadn't damaged it when she dropped it earlier because she had been in such a rush that she hadn't checked it, but it was in perfect condition. "What spells would you like me to do?"

Madame Pomfrey took a clipboard off the bedside table, flipping through a few pages before saying, "Nothing too complex, but you've done this before so I'm sure you remember what to expect."

Hermione nodded as the nurse explained which ones she needed to cast. "Okay," she assented, slowly drawing herself to her feet and standing. "I can do that."

McGonagall looked extremely vexed about it, but didn't speak up as Hermione prepared herself to cast the levitating charm she learned in first year. Easy.

She pointed her wand at the pillow on her bed and took a deep breath, guiding her hand through the motion as she said in a confident voice, "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

As soon as the words left her lips, a sudden jolt of pain ran up her arm and the pillow jerked half an inch to the left. It did not raise even a millimeter from the bed.

Hermione stared in disbelief at the failed spell she had just cast. That was a first year enchantment.

She heard McGonagall's gasp and felt frustrated tears pooling in her eyes. "I messed up," she whispered, turning to the three stony-faced adults. "I just messed up, that's all," she said desperately. "I'm going to try it again."

She blew her hair out of her face and pointed her wand at the pillow again.

Swish and flick, she thought. Swish and flick. Swish and flick.

She took another deep breath.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," she repeated, her voice trembling slightly from her nervousness.

Again, another jolt of pain flashed up her right arm and she immediately let it fall to side, breathing heavily as spasms of pain overtook her fingers. She looked from her twitching hand to the pillow and felt her heart stutter.

It hadn't moved at all that time.

A few beats of silence passed while Hermione tried to accept that her spells hadn't worked. That had never happened to her before.

"What's the next one?" She asked softly, finally breaking the stillness in the air.

She didn't receive an answer.

"I said, what's the next spell?" She demanded, whipping her head around to the nurse.

Madame Pomfrey looked at her sadly. "The summoning charm," she told her.

Hermione saw the disbelief written all over Dumbledore's face and the grief in McGonagall's eyes and wanted to show them that she was fine.

She _was_ fine.

"Fine," she snapped, angrily pushing her hair out of her face again. She was on the verge of tears but everything was going to be okay. She could do this.

She looked around the room for something to summon and decided on a glass sitting on a table across the room. She took another deep breath to calm herself down and focused all her attention on the cup.

"_Accio cup_!" She cried, waving her wand with perfect form, before letting out a sharp cry as pain flew up her spine directly from her wand hand. She clenched her wand as hard as she could as her tears began falling, panting shallowly for air. The cup trembled on the table before falling over and shattering into a million pieces.

A familiar voice came back to her, swimming in her ears from her subconscious.

_You have a choice to make._

She dragged her sleeve across her face and shouted the spell again and again, pointing at different objects in the room, her form getting sloppier and sloppier each time, until she had collapsed to the ground writhing in pain.

The memory of the ball of light floating in nothingness came back to her while her eyes were blinded from the pain. She saw her hand reaching out for it but couldn't reach it no matter how hard she tried.

"Why isn't it working?" She cried out, thrashing about blindly, sobbing onto the stone floor. "Why does this hurt?"

_Ah, _the voice murmured, fading in and out, _but all dark magic comes at a price._

"Hermione," Professor Dumbledore's voice broke through the haze of pain that swam in her consciousness, "you gave Mr. Diggory—"

The woman's voice drifted back into her head again, a single powerful whisper that obscured the rest of his sentence.

_Let it go, Hermione…_

It was drowned out by the shrill shriek of a train whistle blowing, filling Hermione's mind until she thought it would burst until she suddenly felt numb, her eyes drying out and the pain subsiding.

Her head was filled with what sounded like static from a radio searching for a signal, the sound fading out as if the train had disappeared into the distance. "What?"

She couldn't breathe or move.

"Oh, Albus…" McGonagall's tearful voice drifted into her ears and Hermione lay very still.

Madame Pomfrey spoke up next, her voice regretful. "Miss Granger, you're not—"

A chorus of terrified screams filled the hospital wing suddenly, and Hermione sat up sluggishly in response, feeling dazed and cold inside. She blinked her eyes a few times to clear the inky blackness around the edges and the world gradually came back into focus.

The three adults looked between each other in alarm at the continued shrieks that resonated in the room. Hermione turned her head toward the doors as they banged open and two familiar boys came rushing in toward her.

"Hermione—" Harry yelled, his glasses hanging crookedly on his face and his hair a mess—

"They're here!" Ron shouted breathlessly, interrupting the other boy, and they both rushed forward to crouch beside her on the floor.

Hermione looked between them, feeling disconnected from everything as she asked in a distant voice, "Who?"

"Death Eaters," Harry breathed, grabbing one of her arms to pull her up. "They're in the castle."

Ron nodded furiously, his blue eyes wild. "We lost track of Lav and Gin and the others, but we came to you as soon as we could. We've got to go, Hermione."

"They're looking for us," Harry told her urgently, his green eyes blazing with terror before hardening in anger. "He's here and he wants both of us."

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><p><em>Author's Note: <em>Oh look, a cliffhanger. Whoops.

What do you think is going to happen? And do you think you've figured out what's wrong with Hermione yet? I guess you'll have to wait and see…

I love you guys. ;)

-Caitlyn

P.S.

For those of you who just got this notification in your email after adding it to your alerts list that flipped out and went, "OMG WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'CHAPTER TWENTY'? THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MY LIFE AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE OTHER CHAPTERS, CAITLYN?" Here is what's up: I finally got through with my editing which also explains why all the chapters now have generic numbered titles (I feel like it keeps you guessing as to what's going to happen this way). If you haven't read through it recently, you might want to at least give the earlier chapters a look again because I've changed quite a bit.

One of the biggest changes I added was that Hermione didn't realize she was in love with Cedric until the chapter before this one.

Yep, you heard that right.

_She literally just realized she's in love_.

To be honest, I feel like that's a more realistic approach to things because it adds more meaning to the realization instead of her one day going, "huh, well, guess this fluttery girly feeling means I'm in love so yeah, I'm in love. *drools*"

Okey dokey, well, that's really all from me now. Hope you have a fantastic day and enjoy those nice little bombs I dropped on you.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Disclaimer: **Voldemort and his non-existent nose don't belong to me.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-One<strong>

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><p>A blast sounded outside the hospital wing, startling Hermione back into reality. Ron grabbed her other arm and they quickly helped her to her feet. "Do you have a plan?" She asked them urgently, looking between Harry and Ron.<p>

Panic began dripping into her bloodstream, coursing its way through her veins at the same time as her heart started to pump adrenaline into her body. There were so many faces that flashed across the forefront of her mind—Naomi, Andrew, Ginny, Lavender, Parvati, Cho, Scott—but the one that haunted her the most was Cedric's.

Ron gave her an exasperated look despite the fear that she could see written across his face and shining in his eyes. "Well, Hermione, we haven't exactly had time to do much thinking in light of this chaos."

Hermione looked at Harry, who raised his dark eyebrows in surprise and pushed up his glasses with one finger. "If you've got any ideas, feel free to say so," he said.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall interrupted, her wrinkled face twisted with worry. "I'm not sure that jumping into battle the wisest choice given your predicament."

Hermione looked at the older witch, regarding her words carefully. This was a woman that she had looked up to since she was eleven years old, an adult who had guided her to better herself as a magical citizen as well as a person. On either side of her were more people who had cared for Hermione since she had begun school at Hogwarts. All three of them mirrored Hermione's determination to rid the castle of the evil that had managed to creep in as well as the dread of not knowing what the outcome would be.

Who would still be standing at the end of the battle?

And although she could see the genuine fear—the fear for Hermione's life—on McGonagall's face, she knew she had to go. It was her duty and her job to stand beside her boys and help them in any way she could.

"I'll see you in a little bit, Professor," Hermione offered with a smile that faltered slightly when she saw the woman's eyes beginning to water. Her hand gripped firmly around her wand as she heard another loud banging sound outside the large room.

This was what she was born to do.

"Let's go," she told Harry and Ron, and without another glance behind her, she turned and ran after her best friends into the fight.

"We have to do something," the mediwitch whispered as the doors banged shut behind the three sixth year students.

"Yes," he agreed, withdrawing his wand from his pocket. He looked at the great wand for a second before gazing between the women's anxious faces. "We have to protect this school."

McGonagall turned toward the white haired headmaster as a tear rolled down her cheek. "She'll die, Albus."

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment. "She might," he finally agreed, opening his eyes and looking between them. "But that is a risk that we all take when we decide to fight for what is right and Miss Granger is quite aware of that."

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><p>"Bloody hell!" Scott shouted before immediately casting a shield charm to block a jet of red light.<p>

Spells flew overhead in a rainbow of color, the sound of battle filling the corridor. "_Expelliarmus!_" Cedric yelled as another black cloaked figure drew their wand to cast a spell toward them, knocking the Death Eater's wand from his hand.

The pungent smell of dust and ash rushed into the boys' noses, burning their nostrils. Scott coughed and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his forearm, smearing dirt across his forehead. "Are you okay, mate?" He asked.

"Yeah," Cedric replied, breathing hard. Just minutes before, a group of Death Eaters had come and cast multiple killing curses that they had been able to deflect, but it resulted in the walls crumbling down around them into piles of rubble with each hole blasted through the stone.

They had been walking to the hospital wing when they heard a scream. They rushed to the corridor and managed to stupefy the masked man before he could harm the first year girl who had been cornered. Suddenly, everything twisted into a horrible nightmare and more Death Eaters filled the hall. They had cast spell after spell but the stream of them didn't seem like it would ever end.

As Cedric stood there for a moment to try and catch his breath while they had a few precious seconds of quiet, he wondered what had happened to Cho and the rest of his friends. Dread weighed him down like a lead balloon and he suddenly wished that he had let them come with him when they offered. Now he didn't know if they'd ever find them again.

"C'mon, Ced," Scott said, gesturing for his friend to follow him. "We've got to try to make our way downstairs."

Cedric nodded and collected his bearings. "You're right."

On their way down the first staircase nearest to them, Cedric stupefied two Death Eaters and Scott managed to disarm another. As they rounded another corner, Cedric spotted Aiden through a plume of smoke on the other side of the corridor.

"Look, Scott!" He pointed toward their friend, who was occupied with dueling another wizard.

The boys raced toward him, reaching him just as he said between exhales, "_Petrificus Totalus._"

The Death Eater stiffened and fell forward, a cloud of dust going airborne around him when he smacked down on the floor. "Where is everybody?" Scott asked him.

Aiden's brown eyes looked up and down the hallway for more intruders before telling us, "I don't know. One minute, we were eating dinner and joking around and the next, a crowd of hooded figures with skull masks came pouring into the Great Hall. Everything erupted into chaos and spells started flying." Aiden had a disturbed look on his face as he continued describing the events from his perspective. "Naomi and Andrew stuck together of course and I stayed with them for as long as I could, but we got separated at one point and I don't know where they are anymore."

Cedric's thoughts were conflicted as he considered his friend's words. Part of him wanted to know where Cho was and if she was okay amidst the craziness of the war that had broken out in the school. He could almost picture her standing among some of her friends, her hair hanging around her face as she seemingly tirelessly cast spells to defend herself.

The other half of him, which, oddly enough, seemed to be the larger part, felt anxious about the whereabouts of another girl. He envisioned her standing between Weasley and Potter, instructing them on the best spells to cast while continuing to focus on herself as well. Her frizzy hair was everywhere, sweat beading down her face as the multicolored beams of light flashed all around her.

"Where's Hermione?" The question fell from his mouth before he could stop it, and he couldn't help but wonder why it was that her name had bubbled from his lips with such familiarity.

Scott and Aiden shared a look before Aiden said, "Beats me. I haven't seen her since before you guys left to find her at dinner."

Cedric noticed how oddly he was staring at him, and coupled with Scott's confused expression, he couldn't help but scrutinize himself. Why had he asked about a girl he barely knew anything about?

"There's another one!" Scott suddenly announced, urgency in his voice as he withdrew his wand. As more followed behind the Death Eater, Cedric was forced to leave his perplexity behind to focus on the fight at hand.

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><p>Hermione had done her best at staying out of the way whenever Death Eaters approached. She was trying not to bog the boys down, but they were so busy defending themselves that they didn't seem to notice. Her eyes scanned her surroundings as she was blessed by a brief break in the flow of attackers, using the moment to take a breath.<p>

She thought about everything that had happened the past few weeks leading up to her episode in the Hospital Wing. The pain that stemmed from casting spells, the ball of light from her dream, the looks between her professors...

The woman's voice seemed to be an eternal echo ringing in her ears—_Let it go_.

And suddenly, it all clicked into place.

She lurched forward, reaching out for the boys. Ron turned when her hand met his shoulder, his bright red hair streaked with grime. "You okay?" She asked him, her heart twisting painfully in her chest.

He nodded, blinking a few times to clear the dust from his eyes. "Yeah. You?"

She smiled feebly at him. "Absolutely," she lied through her teeth.

This was a magical battle and she didn't have magic anymore. For her, this was a suicide mission.

She saw that Harry was looking worriedly at her and hooked an arm around each of the to pull them both into a tight hug, tears springing to her eyes as they stood alone in the crumbling remains of what once was one of the many corridors in her beloved school. "No matter what happens, I love you both," she muttered fiercely into the mess of their mixed hair, a few tears leaking into her mouth.

Harry pulled away and, his emerald eyes clouded with doubt behind his filthy glasses, said, "That sounds like a goodbye."

Hermione was about to respond when a cackle that made her skin crawl interrupted her. The three jumped and turned around just in time to see Bellatrix Lestrange brandish her wand with a maniacal grin and send a jet of green light their way.

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><p>"Ced," Scott breathed, sweat droplets dripping off the end of his nose and clinging to his limp hair.<p>

Cedric looked over at him, wiping his sweaty palm off on his trousers. "Yeah?"

They had just finished combating another wave of Death Eaters for over an hour and the boys' muscles were screaming in exhaustion. Scott licked his dry lips before he said, his voice tumbling out in a rush, "I have to tell you something, mate." His eyes seemed wild with desperation all of a sudden.

Cedric's heart pounded with dread for some reason as he said, "What is it, Scott?"

Scott rubbed the collar of his dirt-stained white shirt over his sweaty face, both of their Hogwarts cloaks discarded a while ago because they had gotten too hot amidst the battle. "Remember those dreams you told me about?" He asked. "The ones about Hermione?"

Cedric furrowed his brows, blowing out a puff of air to dispel a few sweat droplets off that had rolled down to his lips. "What about them? They're a load of nonsense."

Aiden came back from scouting the hallway just then, his hair slick with sweat. The boys dropped the subject the second they noticed how deathly pale his face was. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before suddenly doubling over and vomiting all over the stone at their feet.

Cedric and Scott rushed to him, rubbing his back reassuringly as he finished, wiping his mouth on the back of his trembling hand. "What did you see?" Scott questioned him desperately, shaking him slightly.

Aiden's watery brown eyes looked up, his lips quivering as they parted once more, "It was – I saw –" but he cut himself with a half sob that turned into more upheaval of his dinner.

Scott stayed with him in an attempt to console their shell-shocked friend and Cedric wandered slowly down the hallway in the direction that Aiden had come from, his steps cautious as he got close to the corner. He backed up against the wall, holding his wand tightly in his grip in case there were any intruders on the other side.

His heart beat furiously against his ribs, each pulse resonating in his head.

_Lub-dup. Lub-dup. Lub-dup._

He exhaled and turned swiftly, brandishing his wand before himself, a defensive spell on the tip of his tongue. The words died in his throat before they had the chance to fully form at the sight before him.

There was an ongoing duel going on at the end of the corridor, spells flying back and forth through the air as the opponents dodged and blocked the other's enchantments, but Cedric couldn't see anything except the crumbled remains of what had been the right wall. Dying sunlight flooded the broken pieces of stone that littered the dusty floor, stretching across the bodies that were strewn across it.

There were three bodies that he recognized easily, and he could feel his throat tightening as his eyes darted between each one, their unseeing eyes staring off in different directions.

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><p><em>Author's Note<em>: Hi. I have had crazy writer's block but I've been trying to find my way with this story. I want to finish it so badly for you guys.

Don't give up on me or this story just yet. It's nearly over but not quite.

I hope you are all doing fairly well. :)

Any speculations now about what's to come?

- Caitlyn


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Disclaimer: **I wish Cedric was mine, but he's not. *sigh*

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Two<strong>

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><p>"<em>Expelliarmus!<em>" Ron bellowed in the same instant Bellatrix had spoken, sending her wand flying across the room. "Duck!" He shouted as the spell ricocheted toward them at a slanted projection angle. The other two members of the trio hastily followed his orders and jumped out of the way, the spell rocketing over their heads and exploding into a wall, causing it to crumble to the floor.

Bellatrix let out an enraged scream when the killing curse missed them before shrieking, "Where is my wand, you filthy ingrates?"

Hermione spotted it in the rubble and ran over to it just as the older woman's eyes caught sight of it. She got there moments before Bellatrix, who was racing across the room in an attempt to beat her to it. "This is for Neville!" Hermione shouted at her, picking up the wand and cracking it over her knee in one motion. She threw the pieces down and stomped once down on them, effectively breaking the wand beyond repair.

Bellatrix's eyes were wide, her pupils gleaming with the insanity of her mind as she skidded to a halt when the reality of what had just happened occurred. Hermione kicked the pieces off somewhere into the rubble, holding her head up defiantly despite her lack of magic. In reality, she was terrified, but she refused to back down. Bellatrix's eyes hardened to stone as they narrowed to furious slits. "You ungrateful, disgusting mudblood scum," she spat venomously, "do you realize what you've just done?"

Before Hermione could say anything, Bellatrix lunged for her, arms outstretched and prepared to attack. Harry was quicker. "_Everte Statum_!" He cried out, sending the crazy woman flying back into a wall.

Bellatrix groaned and struggled to stand up, but Ron recited another spell before she had the chance. "_Petrificus Totalus_," he muttered, putting her into a full-body bind. The trio was breathing heavily and Ron let out an indignant snort, looking over at her with undisguised hatred in his expression. "She deserves so much worse than that, but she's not worth our time." He looked between the other two, his face hardened with determination. "C'mon, guys. We've still got one more powerful psycho we need to take down."

Hermione couldn't help the surge of pride that coursed through her as she stared at her red haired friend standing in front of her. He had finally grown into the man she always knew he was capable of becoming, and she fought back the violent sobs that threatened to overtake her at the thought that she wouldn't see him continuing to evolve and become even a day stronger.

Harry interrupted her morbid, depressing thoughts, sweat mingling with the dirt smeared across his face as it rolled down his cheeks. "Let's go."

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><p>Now was not the time to mourn. He knew that and so did the people who now lay lifelessly on the ground.<p>

Naomi and Andrew were close together, and he could see by the way their bodies were laying—Andrew's in front of hers—that he had died trying to protect her. Andrew had fallen backward onto the dusty floor of the corridor, his arms twisted at strange angles, his wand laying a few feet from him after having rolled out of his limp hand. His blue eyes were wide open and staring into nothingness, his mouth slack.

Naomi looked as though she had crumpled to the floor and Cedric feared that she had been tortured before finally being murdered. He hoped with every fiber of his being that her life had not ended in such a brutal way because for as sassy as she could be, she had always been a sweet, kind hearted person. She was laying on her side, her arms vainly reaching forward toward Andrew. Cedric saw the tears that still littered her cheeks and felt a pang in his heart as he realized that they looked fresh. Her brown eyes that had always held such warmth in them were now completely void of emotion, unblinkingly gazing in Andrew's direction.

He wiped his face once realizing that tears were streaming endlessly down his cheeks, gasping sobs erupting from his throat as he looked between the friends he had known throughout his entire Hogwarts career. He heard Scott sniffling beside him, breaking down as the same wave after wave of despair crashed down over both of them. Cedric's teary eyes finally landed on the third person and he choked on a gag, swallowing hard to keep himself from throwing up like Aiden had.

There was Cho on the other side of the hallway—quiet, unassuming Cho Chang who had never belonged in battle. None of them did, but certainly not her. She wouldn't have hurt a fly no matter how many times she waved it away in annoyance. He fell to his knees, his stomach twisting in revulsion as he looked at the blood that shone all around her. Her insides had been mercilessly torn apart as if they were nothing more than spaghetti noodles, her stomach split wide open. Her face was tilted off to the side with a relaxed expression on it, her open eyes still shining with the remains of her tears of pain. Blood was splattered across her face, the bright crimson contrasting immensely against her porcelain skin.

"Oh God," he choked out, plugging his nose as the sickeningly strong stench of iron and blood filled his nostrils. He didn't want to know how long she had been forced to lie there as she was savagely ripped to pieces, writhing in agony beneath her sadistic killer. He could almost imagine her shrieks of anguish slicing through the air like a sharp knife that no one could hear over the chaos of battle. It looked like the work of Fenrir Greyback, a realization that struck the strongest sense of abhorrence for another living creature Cedric had ever felt inside of himself.

He made a dark promise to himself that if he came across the bastard in battle today, he would show just as little compassion toward him that the callous werewolf had shown to his girlfriend.

"Ced, we have to keep moving," Scott urged him through his own tears, seeing the cyclone of emotions that had completely engulfed his best mate. Cedric shakily stood and dusted off the ash and small bits of debris that clung to his trousers, despite knowing it was pointless because they were in a crazed war zone.

"I'm coming," he said, patting both of his friends and wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his forearm. "Let's stick together, mates."

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><p>"I've figured out some things this year that we needed to know to defeat Voldemort," Harry told Hermione.<p>

Ron elbowed him, eliciting a sharp _ouch_ from Harry. "_We_ figured it out, actually." Ron amended for him. "Harry, Ginny, and I, that is." Hermione nodded along. She felt hurt that they'd left her out, but she was also partially to blame for making herself an outcast from the group.

"What did you figure out?" She asked them, subconsciously clutching her wand tightly as the occasional shouts and sound of explosions occurred as spells flew this way and that.

Harry began explaining, immediately beating Ron to the punch. "We're not sure just yet why he didn't die the night he murdered my parents," a flash of pain flickered in his eyes as he said that, "but we figured out that when he was brought back, a piece of his soul was broken off and stored inside Pettigrew because Peter was the one who performed the enchantments."

Hermione took a moment to process this, all of her senses still on high alert in the middle of battle. Ron disarmed a Death Eater and Harry quickly immobilized him, followed by another, and Hermione's heart was beating rapidly in her chest after the close-calls. Finally, she said, "So you have to kill Pettigrew before you can even think about killing him?"

"Right," Ron confirmed. "But there's something else, too." He looked at Harry who gave him a nod of approval before he continued. "His creepy snake also has a part of him. When Voldemort came back, he somehow tore another part of his soul and put it in the snake."

Hermione furrowed her brows, thinking deeply. The night Harry's parents were murdered, Voldemort tried killing Harry as well. The spell didn't work because Harry's mother had protected him with her love, causing it to bounce off of Harry and hit him… Suddenly she figured it out. "Harry, Voldemort didn't actually die because his killing curse was weakened once it had hit you, so when it ricocheted off toward him, it threw him into some weird sort of limbo. That's part of the reason that he was in a phantom state when you ran into him First Year."

The boys stared at her in awe, but she wasn't finished. She remembered sneaking out to the restricted section multiple times, and in one of the books she read, she could remember something about ripping the soul into pieces. Unless all the pieces were destroyed, the witch or wizard couldn't die, which Harry, Ron, and Ginny had already figured out.

"Nagini, the snake, and Pettigrew are basically living containers for Voldemort's soul. I read about something like that in Fourth Year," Hermione shook her head, her brows still knitted in concentration. "It's extremely dark magic. When a wizard tears his soul like that, the receptacle that he uses to store it in is called a horcrux. Like you guys already figured out, the wizard can't die unless all the horcruxes are destroyed."

A look of recognition dawned on Harry's face. "So that means that Tom Riddle's diary—er, Voldemort's diary—"

"Was a horcrux," Hermione supplied for him. "Which you destroyed with the basilisk fang."

Ron looked at her with a dumbfounded expression. "You're bloody brilliant, Hermione."

Hermione smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes as she replied, "Thanks. At this point, my smarts are all I have."

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><p>Cedric had just fought off a particularly tough Death Eater when he turned and saw a giant snake dangerously slithering toward him. Its red eyes were locked onto him, shining with a predatory gleam as it got closer. Scott and Aiden were still trying to hold their own against a pair of Death Eaters themselves, so it looked like it was up to him to fight the beast alone. He brandished his wand just as the snake got nearer to him, but it was knocked out of his hand by a rogue disarming spell and clattered to the floor somewhere behind him.<p>

The snake's tongue flicked out as if it were amused and its hungry eyes were unmoving from Cedric. Cedric knew that there was no way he could outrun a snake that size—serpents were capable of traveling at crazy speeds—and prepared himself for his fate. This was going to be worse than his first death, and what was worse, he'd never gotten to thank Hermione.

The thought of her suddenly made a dream he didn't remember ever having swim to the forefront of his mind.

"_Cedric," Hermione said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them._

_He looked over at her as soon as she spoke, relishing in the way his name fell from her lips. The firelight reflected off of her porcelain skin, and he could see the way it made her eyes glow despite not being able to get a good glimpse of them as she stared into the flames. "Yes?" He responded, his eyes softening as he held his gaze on her._

_She turned to look at him and he wondered briefly if a time would come that he would stop feeling utterly baffled when he saw her. "What's the first thing you want to do when you come back?" She asked, her voice soft and unassuming._

_He saw the innocence in her expression, the way that she was genuinely curious to hear his answer, and smiled. If he were alive, he thought that his heart would have skipped a beat as multiple things crossed his mind._

_Snog the daylights out of you. Hold you. Be with you._

"_Truthfully?" He asked her, his eyes glowing. She nodded. "Take you to Hogsmeade and show you what a real good time is," he finally answered, choosing his words carefully._

_She laughed softly, but he saw the surprise in her eyes. "And why is that?"_

_Cedric nearly shook his head in disbelief. For the brightest witch of the age, she was so oblivious to what was right in front of her. His feelings for her, his adoration for her... "You sure ask a lot of questions," he said, chuckling._

_Her eyes were shining with mystery as she smiled. "Only to get the answers I want."_

_He gave her a thoughtful look, trying to figure her out. Every time he thought he had, she threw another curveball that had him knocked off-track. "You…" Cedric couldn't help but shake his head. She really was different from every other girl he'd ever met, a thought that brought a smile to his face. "You're something else, Hermione."_

As he was still trying to process it, he was bombarded by another, the snake coiling as it prepared to launch itself at him—

"_I'm sorry I yelled at you," he apologized softly, knowing that as he spoke she was still resolute as ever about bringing him back. As he looked at her, fear struck him that it might be the last time he ever would, influencing his words as he continued, "but I'll be bloody damned if I let you—" he broke off, clearing his throat. If he were alive, he was certain he would be crying by now. "I refuse to stand by and watch you die for me." He spoke in a soft, broken whisper. He didn't want to say goodbye. "I'm already dead anyways, so there's nothing for me to lose if this doesn't work." That was a lie and he knew it. He didn't want to leave her. No—he didn't want _her_ to leave _him.

_Hermione wasn't the kind of girl to give up and he had known this about her all along, but he hoped that she would, just this once. He would rather disappear than live without her. He couldn't bear that._

_Her eyes were unyielding as she stubbornly shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. He knew before she even spoke what she was going to say and it killed him inside. "It's already done, Cedric, and frankly, _I _refuse to watch _you _disappear forever."_

The snake's tongue flickered out again before it launched itself into the air, and that's when he finally understood.

The shock and pain in Hermione's face when he woke up in the Hospital Wing and didn't understand why she was there—

Hermione gazing at him when she thought he wasn't looking—

Scott asking about his dreams multiple times and then dropping the subject—

His dreams were never dreams at all. They were memories.

But now it was too late to do anything about it as he stared down his death that was soaring through the air, mouth open to show off an impressively terrifying set of venomous fangs.

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><p><em>Author's Note: <em>Hey, guys. I finally kicked that writer's block to the curb. I'm going to post the next chapter as soon as I can, but I can't make any promises because my summer is pretty busy now that I'm preparing for college.

That's right; I'm a high school graduate now!

How are you guys doing? For those of you on summer vacation, are you having a good one? Any cool plans coming up? And for those of you who are not, how's life? :)

I love you guys. Please don't hate me for this chapter. See you for the next update.

-Caitlyn


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Disclaimer: **Only the plot is mine… Sadly.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Three<strong>

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><p><em>I'd like to dedicate this chapter to lilbeth because she made my day with her sweet PM and stuff. Thank you for being all fangirly and making me feel proud of my work. :D<em>

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><p>Hermione stopped short, a sharp pain jolting through her body that caused her to lurch backward half a step. Her eyes were wide and she let out a silent cry of pain, her hands flying to her chest.<p>

Ron turned in less than a second to grab her desperately, his eyes alight with fear as she doubled over, her face slowly contorting to an expression of distress. "Hermione, we have to keep going. Harry…Harry's going to be fine with Voldemort," he told her, shaking her shoulders, his eyes misting over with tears as she fell to her knees.

Pain was rocketing through her body, stemming from her chest and compounding with each heartbeat. "Ron," she gasped, looking up at him but barely seeing him through her pain, her hands desperately clutching her chest, spells still rapidly flying around them. She felt it again, and her eyes were reeling back in her head. Would there be an end to this agony—the fire that suddenly began pumping through her bloodstream mid-step?

Harry had urged them to go on when he found Voldemort, telling them to find the snake and kill it. They had already come across the lifeless body of Peter Pettigrew face-down in the rubble of a wall that had crumbled to pieces, his bloodied body evidence that he was killed in the midst of the collapse.

"Hermione, please," Ron begged her, kneeling beside her, his eyes scanning her body for any indication of what had caused her suffering.

Hermione felt tears rolling down her cheeks that fell into the dust as her body subconsciously jerked at the impact of an invisible force. The image of a snake's bloodied mouth invaded her frenzied mind as it retracted, hissing before preparing to launch itself forward again. She felt her body bracing against force of its voracious, unforgiving fangs, her eyes flickering between the stark image of Nagini's gleaming ruby muzzle and Ron's sapphire eyes that sparkled with tears.

It wasn't her memory. Ron—_Ron _was her reality.

"Cedric," she choked out, weeping into the dirt that surrounded her in the harshness of the war. She felt his pain—his agony—as Nagini lunged again, another involuntary spasm running through her as her fangs made harsh contact with Cedric's chest. "No, no, no…" Hermione gasped, rolling and writhing on the ground, pain that wasn't hers rocketing through every fiber of her body.

All she could see was Nagini, preparing for the final lunge—she could hear his feverish, never-ending thoughts: _Why aren't they helping me, Scott, Aiden, oh God, please don't let me die, please make it stop, take the pain away, there's too much blood, where are they, I feel dizzy, I can't breathe, and I'm dying, I'm dying, I'mdying—_and she couldn't stop the barrage of waves upon waves of misery and red-hot suffering that had caught fire to every cell in her body.

Her vision was suddenly overtaken by bright green light and she couldn't tell if it was in her field of vision or Cedric's but everything went black just as a faint shout of, "He's dead!" reverberated throughout her eardrums.

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><p>Hermione stretched, feeling extremely lethargic. She opened her eyes as tranquility washed over her, blinking a few times before slowly looking around. She was floating in blackness, a lonely ship in an endless sea of nothingness. The tiredness dripped slowly into her bloodstream like an IV ejecting medicine into her veins, and her heavy-lidded eyes roamed over her surroundings.<p>

She reached out and grasped at the emptiness before her, peace enveloping her like an old friend. She felt her eyelids droop with exhaustion because she really was quite sleepy. If she could just close her eyes for only a moment, surely she would feel more energy than she currently did…

"Hermione."

She opened her eyes curiously, the word that the strangely familiar voice whispered floating through her head on repeat. Hermione. Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.

She felt a tingle in her chest, a sensation of recognition. What was so special about the word? _Her-my-oh-nee._

She spoke suddenly, her own voice startling her. "That's my name," she acknowledged softly, remembering the fact.

"Hermione," the voice said again, louder this time, and she turned around slowly.

She found herself staring through a hole in a tree, a smile overtaking her face as sunlight snuck its way through to warm the parts of her face it could reach, not the least bit alarmed by the change in scenery as she turned to check behind herself to find that she was crouching inside the small, dark enclosure of the tree.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are…" Hermione held her breath to keep from giggling, her heart pounding as she watched the tall, brown-haired boy peer around a tree on the other side of the clearing. The sun bathed everything in a golden glow, the blades of grass almost appearing as though they had been crafted out of the precious metal.

A pair of bright blue eyes sprang up right in front of her, widening before a laugh sounded. "I found her, guys!"

Hermione sighed half-heartedly as she moved out of her hiding place, fighting back her grin as she said, "Andrew, I think you cheated."

The accused boy's eyes widened in mock-surprise before his face straightened into a self-righteous expression. "I'll have you know that I played fair and square."

"You know I'd never let him cheat, Hermione," a female voice laughed. Hermione looked over and saw Naomi walking toward them, her short bob swishing around her face with each step.

Andrew reached out and grabbed her waist, pulling her close and pressing a teasing kiss to her nose. "Goody two-shoes," he grumbled, causing both girls to laugh.

Hermione turned when she heard leaves rustling and saw another figure emerge from the foliage. "I thought I found a great hiding spot, but I guess it wasn't that great," Cho Chang said, brushing her long dark hair over her shoulder as she stepped into the sunlight. She was smiling and shaking her head. "Naomi found me," she informed them, pointing a playfully accusing finger at the guilty teenager.

Naomi shrugged. "What can I say? I have a gift."

Hermione's heart was filled with more joy than she could express as her eyes flitted between the three faces. She hadn't spent enough time with them, but that was something she would change. It was times like this that made her realize how important it was to maintain friendships with people she cared about. In the back of her mind as her eyes drifted back to Cho, who was focused on brushing pieces of grass off of her skirt, she felt like there was something that used to make her dislike the girl, but she couldn't think of it for the life of her.

"Let's go again!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly, ultimately deciding that it was unimportant. All that mattered was that they were all together and having fun. "I'll be it this time." She went over to a tree to begin counting, hearing the giggles and whispers of her friends as they began scrambling to find places to hide.

"Hermione," a voice whispered, startling her out of her counting.

She recognized the voice but couldn't place who it belonged to. "Hello?" She said, squinting into the tangle of trees beyond the clearing to find the unidentified person.

A hand grasped hers, making her jump and turn toward it just as someone emerged from the shadows behind the very tree she had been counting in front of. A tall boy with soft brown hair stood before her, his gray eyes staring imploringly at her as they appeared to search her face. "You shouldn't be here," Cedric murmured, his brows knitting together.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but found herself suddenly with a mouthful of water. She blinked and twisted about to find that she was fully submerged in dark water. She looked up, holding her breath, and saw a white reflection gleaming on the waves above. She kicked her feet as hard as she could, using her arms to further propel herself toward the surface. Her lungs burned as she neared it, gasping for air as she broke the surface and pushing her drenched hair out of her face.

It was dark outside except for the full moon and the faint light that the stars provided, and she couldn't see land from where she was currently floating. She turned around in the water, kicking her feet to keep her head afloat, and gave a sigh of relief when she saw a boat drifting in the middle of the waves. She couldn't see who the fisherman was—she saw a fishing pole extending from the boat with a line that disappeared into the water—but she knew that she physically couldn't stay in the water forever without tiring her muscles out.

She swam toward the boat, which appeared to be a small, wooden lifeboat. She noticed as she neared it that it was painted white, which made it gleam brightly in the moonlight. As she approached the side of the boat, she saw a solitary hooded figure perched on the wooden bench holding the fishing rod steady.

"Excuse me," Hermione said, coughing when water sloshed into her mouth, "but may I sit in your boat with you? There's no land anywhere else in sight."

The hooded figure turned toward her. "Of course," a pleasant female voice responded, a pale hand extending toward Hermione to assist her as she gratefully pulled herself aboard.

"Thank you," Hermione said as she settled onto the bench, surprised when she found the weather outside the water to be pleasantly warm. The woman nodded beneath her hood and turned back to her fishing. Hermione watched curiously as the woman sat motionlessly, patiently waiting for something to bite the line.

"Would you like to try?" The woman asked, offering Hermione the fishing pole.

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Uh, sure," she said, accepting it and staring where the line disappeared beneath the water. She noticed that there were no waves, the water sitting as motionlessly as the woman. A ripple ran across the liquid as Hermione shifted on the bench to get a better view of the line.

"You'd be surprised what you can catch with that."

Hermione jumped, looking at the woman whose face was shadowed by her hood. The material of her cloak was made of what looked like woven silver that sparkled in the moonlight. "Really?"

A melodic laugh emerged from the cloak. "I think you'll have better luck than me, though," she said, glossing over Hermione's question.

"What makes you say that?" Hermione asked, her attention fully diverted from the fishing pole that was grasped between her slippery hands.

The mysterious fisherwoman pulled her hood back to reveal a beautiful porcelain-skinned face framed by long, white-blonde hair. Her ice blue eyes pierced through Hermione, striking a sense of familiarity inside of her. She felt like she had met this woman before, but she didn't know how that was possible. "Isn't it fascinating how the stars are reflected on the water?" The woman asked her, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.

Hermione's gaze moved to the stagnant water that reflected the sky like a mirror. She could see each star perfectly on the surface of the water, each round, luminous circle of light appearing as though they were shards of diamonds scattered across it. The moon was strangely not reflecting off the water, but for some reason, it didn't bother Hermione. "Yes," she mused, "it is."

The fishing pole suddenly twitched in her hands, causing Hermione to snap out of her reverie and tug on it, watching as the line stretched taut. Whatever it was that she had caught looked like it was going to be difficult to reel in. "Let's see what you caught," the woman suggested, her voice floating in the air between them as though it were composed of lilting music notes.

Hermione nodded her acknowledgement and began to reel in the line, her eyes focused on the water for any indication of what it was going to be. She pulled on the fishing pole to ensure that whatever was hooked at the end of the line wouldn't let go, reeling in the line as fast as she could. She stared in surprise as the hook emerged, plunged through a glistening star.

"Hurry, before it gets away," the woman said, and Hermione reached out to unhook it. As soon as her hand made contact with the glowing ball of light, warmth shot up her fingers and her eyesight was overcome by a flash of whiteness that reminded her of her parents taking a picture of her with the flash on.

A million feelings shot through her as the light filled her being, her nerve endings singing as a tingling sensation ran up and down her spine. Happiness, comfort, power, joy, fear, sadness, excitement—every emotion in existence coursed through her body, dissipating as the light began dimming away from her vision and leaving her with a sense of warmness that sat pleasantly in her stomach as she found herself still sitting in the boat.

"It's not yours, you know," the woman told her. Hermione looked at her, confused. The woman laughed, looking out at the reflection of the stars on the water again. "There's so many of them, but of course only that one would choose you."

Hermione looked at the empty hook that was dangling in front of her before looking at the woman, still struggling to figure out how she knew her. "What do you mean?"

"I tried holding onto it, but it refused to be contained," the woman mused. She turned to Hermione. "Yours, his—I remember the star they were born from. It's not often that it happens that way, one star giving forth two, but when I took it apart, the two pieces always seemed to find a way to drift together."

Hermione couldn't make sense of the woman's gibberish, but sat silently in the hopes that perhaps she would be able to if she continued speaking.

The woman reached over the side of the boat and plucked one of the stars right off the water, holding the orb in one hand. "Magic is an interesting, unpredictable thing."

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><p><em>Author's Note: <em>This chapter was the product of a lot of spur-of-the-moment ideas that hit me all at once. I actually gave myself a cool idea for a book thanks to this—building off of the whole concept of stars being more than just random balls of light—but we'll see where that goes from here.

Everything is getting weird now, isn't it? I started writing this chapter five minutes after finishing the new Romeo and Juliet movie starring Douglass Booth (my love…it killed me to see him in pain) so it turned out a lot darker than I originally intended it to be. I like it, though, and I think it adds a lot more direction to the ending (which is coming up in the next chapter or two). I wrote the first half of this chapter through a river of tears.

Tell me what you think, guyssss. That would be awesome. I love you and I'll see you soon. :)

-Caitlyn


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I think you get the picture by now.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four<strong>

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><p>Hermione jolted awake with a gasp. She jerked around, her eyes darting from left to right as confusion set in. She was tucked away in a sterile white bed beneath soft white sheets, the blank walls around her serving to feed the growing panic that was building within her.<p>

Where was she?

The last thing she could remember was… She wracked her brain for the distant memory swimming in a dark corner of her mind, something that whispered about boats and stars and playing hide and seek in the woods, a chorus of laughter echoing through her head.

Her heart thudded in her chest as it hit her—the battle, Harry's urgent voice as he told Ron to take her and find the snake to kill it no matter what happened to him, Bellatrix, the hospital wing, and—

The blood slowly drained from her face as she recalled the unambiguous, distinct image of Nagini's bloody fangs followed by the waves of pain that had overtaken her body. She didn't know where she was but she had to figure out where Cedric was to make sure he was okay.

Oh, Merlin, and Harry! What happened to him? She began panicking, helplessness crashing down so hard on her that she felt like she was going to suffocate. One of her best friends had been left all on his own to face the most powerful dark wizard in history and the other…

Ron was _with her_. What if something happened to him when she was down, something she didn't see because she had lost consciousness? She felt bile rising in her throat as images assaulted her mind of all three boys' lifeless bodies lined up side by side as the death toll was tallied up. If they had all died, she should have been with them.

She yanked on the blankets to free herself of the bed, hyperventilating as claustrophobia and anxiety placed an iron grip on her. "Help!" She screamed, "Someone, please help me!" She was tugging on the blankets but she couldn't get them loose and she felt tears beginning to spill over onto her cheeks.

A war was raging and she was Merlin-knew-where! She had to get out, had to find the boys, had to make sure everyone was alive, had to remind herself to _breathe_, but breathing was hard because her throat was constricting and _oh, Merlin, why wasn't anyone there with her_, and—

The door opened and she halted her efforts, breathing hard as Scott came rushing in. He looked a complete mess, his usually impeccably styled hair limp and lifeless on his head and his clothes disheveled and wrinkled. He had dark circles beneath his red, swollen eyes, his normally cheerful expression replaced by the most solemn, humorless look Hermione had ever seen.

"Scott, please—" Hermione started, her voice wobbly and thick with a mixture of grief and fear, but Scott cut her off by crossing the room in a few swift strides and crushing her to his chest. Hermione fell apart in his comforting embrace, weakly trying to push him away from her as she pleaded brokenly, "Let me _go, _Scott! I have to help them, I have to—"

She could feel his shoulders shaking as silent sobs overtook his body. "It's over, Hermione," he interrupted her, breathing the words into her hair. She stopped struggling against him as surprise washed over her and he pulled back enough to look into her eyes, firmly gripping her shoulders as tears streamed down his face. "Voldemort's dead."

And, while Hermione knew that his crooked smile was supposed to convince her that he was crying out of joy from the news he had just shared, her heart was slowly breaking into a million pieces as she saw the pain behind the forced expression, knowing deep in her soul that something terrible had happened.

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><p>A healer came to give her a check-up after Scott left, no evidence that he had cried besides his red, puffy eyes. The healer was nice, but Hermione didn't feel like talking, too caught up in her thoughts at the moment to pay any attention to what the woman was saying.<p>

Dread had sucked the life right out of her as she had stared into Scott's dull, unsmiling eyes. It was something to do with Cedric, she could just tell.

She didn't want to hear the details about how the man she had risked everything for, the man she had willingly given up her magic for, had helplessly writhed in agony in some corridor far away from her as Nagini's deadly venom coursed through his veins. She didn't want to know whether or not he had cried out as the relentless torture of Nagini's assault continued, nor did she want to know if his last thought was of Cho Chang before the viper lunged one final time to end his life.

Hermione didn't _want _to know any of those things, yet she felt that she needed to if she ever wanted to breathe again.

"Miss Granger?" Hermione blinked emotionlessly and turned her attention to the healer. While their visitation hadn't been long, the only other piece of important information Scott had departed to her was that she had been admitted to St. Mungo's wizarding hospital.

She didn't say a word, only looked at the mediwitch. The woman looked to be about thirty years old, her brown hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. If the purple bags beneath her eyes were anything to go by, after seeing the same phenomenon with Scott, Hermione was beginning to get the impression that people who came to the hospital didn't get much rest.

"As I said, I have already scanned your vitals and you are perfectly healthy," the healer informed Hermione in a gentle tone. Hermione nodded mutely. "Your body was overwhelmed by an excessive amount of magical charge, the remnants of which have already worked its way through your system, which is why you lost consciousness." She glanced down at the clipboard in her hand before continuing in a curious voice, "I also detected something quite unusual during my routine examination."

Hermione raised a slightly intrigued eyebrow.

The healer looked at her with an inquisitive expression on her face. "Have you ever heard of magical connections?"

Hermione shook her head—a first—and continued listening.

"It's extremely rare, but…" The healer paused, her eyes quickly scanning over the parchment before flipping to the next sheet and reading over it. "Magical connections can occur between two people of magical descent that perform a very powerful incantation or brew a particularly strong potion."

This fully caught Hermione's attention and she sat up a little straighter.

The mediwitch observed Hermione with an undisguised level of interest as she asked, "It was you who resurrected Mr. Diggory from the dead, correct?"

Hermione's voice was somewhat breathless, unsure of where this conversation was going. "Yes."

The healer raised her delicate brown eyebrows in shock but quickly straightened her expression into a more professional one. "I would say that the steps you took to go through that process was the reason for the connection, but whenever a connection is usually made, it merely serves to bind the two individuals' minds and souls together," she said. She furrowed her brows a little as she continued, "As I analyzed the magical signature of the traces found in your body when you first arrived, I was stunned to find that it was quite intricate."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, leaning forward in anticipation of the answer the mediwitch would provide. For some reason, something about a star being split in half kept drifting into her mind, but she brushed off the oddly lingering thought.

"It didn't have a definitive caster," she replied. "It had essential elements that seemed to belong to you intermixed with some that belonged to someone else, which is a phenomenon the wizarding world hasn't seen since the Dark Ages, according to all written history in existence to this point."

Hermione thought about how Cedric had somehow managed to acquire her magic, perplexed by all the new information she had just been given. "So…" she started slowly, her brows knitting together as she sat deeply in thought, "What you're saying is that my magic is mixed with Cedric's?"

The healer shook her head. "Sort of, but not exactly." She flipped her parchment to the first page once more. "Your magic and Mr. Diggory's are, down to the very essence of the composition of their signatures, identical."

That's when everything all made sense to Hermione. The reason only shecould see Cedric. The reason that only she could touch him. The reason only she could connect Scott to Cedric and they could see each other. Their magic signatures were the exact same.

"If you could perform a few spells, I can discharge you and send you on your way, Miss Granger," the mediwitch said in a kind voice.

Hermione knew that she would fail the test, but didn't have the strength to fight back. Once she failed it, she would be free to curl back up and sleep as long as she wanted to. "I don't know where my wand is," she murmured truthfully, looking around the room as if it would jump out at her.

The healer smiled and pulled it out of one of her robe pockets. "I held onto it for safekeeping while you were unconscious." She handed it to Hermione before saying, "A few basic spells will be fine."

Hermione concentrated with all her might despite knowing the intense pain she was about to undergo once she cast the spell. She would do the same two spells she attempted in the hospital wing, or at least try to perform them to the best of her newfound non-magical ability. She pointed at the pillow on her bed and recited the levitation spell with a perfect swish and flick of her wrist.

She immediately crumpled to the floor and wept—not because she had felt any pain, but because she _hadn't_. The pillow levitated effortlessly from the mattress and that's when the truth that Hermione had been trying so desperately to ignore crushed her beyond repair.

Cedric was dead.

* * *

><p>Hermione had been discharged from St. Mungo's a few days after her meltdown, the healer leaving her to her inconsolable sobbing. She returned a few times that day but couldn't elicit a single response from Hermione until three days later. Hermione was immobile, staring unresponsively at the wall without acknowledging anyone who tried to speak with her.<p>

She hadn't eaten anything or gotten a wink of sleep in over a week.

Somewhere in her dysfunctional mind, she knew that she was being unfair to her friends and family by acting that way, but she couldn't find the effort to force herself back to life for them.

Between the two boys, Harry came to see her first.

He had sat with her, crouching by the small bed in her parent's home that she had slept in since childhood and holding her hand. He tried making small talk at first, trying to downplay how difficult it had been to defeat Voldemort. Hermione noticed the way his hand kept twitching as it was clasped around hers, a tell-tale sign that he had undergone one too many Cruciatus curses, but she couldn't bring herself to talk.

He talked at length about the cleanup at Hogwarts and about how he and Ron had gotten picked up by the Ministry of Magic to begin Auror training in a few weeks despite their age. Hermione was genuinely happy for them, knowing just how much it meant to them to do their shared dream job together. They had been planning on applying for Auror positions since First Year and she wanted to celebrate.

She wanted to open her mouth to tell her how proud she was, but it was as if she'd forgotten how to speak. So, instead, she continued to lie in her bed staring at the ceiling as she wasted away.

Harry eventually sighed and said his goodbye to her. She heard his footsteps as he made his way toward the door and the way that he stopped just as he reached it. "Hermione," he said slowly, his voice full of raw emotion, "I don't know what's made you like this, but you survived the battle." She heard him choke on a sob and if she had any heart left, it would have been throbbing guiltily with each painful word he spoke. "I—we all miss you. This war has been hard on everyone and that's why we need each other to make it through the pain. We need you here in the land of the living now."

Hermione could sense his hesitation as he waited for any sign of response before he sighed again and gave up. She heard the shuffle of his feet once more followed by the soft click of her bedroom door as he shut it behind himself and waited until she heard the soft _pop_ that indicated he'd Disapparated from her house before rolling onto her side and crying herself into restless state of sleep.

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><p>Hermione had hardly budged from her bed in over a month but she finally knew it was time to, as Harry put it over three weeks ago, return to the land of the living. She quietly crept into the bathroom to shower despite knowing that she could just as easily use a quick spell to scourgify herself clean and brushed her teeth after climbing out.<p>

Her reflection in the fogged up mirror was haunting: her coffee eyes were sunken into a gaunt, pale face and ringed with dark bags that indicated just how much sleep she had been getting lately. Her clothes fit much more loosely than they used to, but she could worry about that later. She owed it not only to Harry and everyone else, but also herself to forcibly come out of reclusion because this day was special. It was her seventeenth birthday.

She walked out of her room and softly greeted her parents, who immediately enveloped her in a tearful embrace and refused to let her leave the house without promising she'd return. Hermione almost cracked the smallest of smiles as she agreed to their concerned wishes before kissing them both goodbye and walking out of the house.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt the sun on her skin and just stood there on the sidewalk in front of her house for a moment to let it warm her. A breeze blew past her, ruffling her curls and tossing them all about in passing. Hermione looked up at the sky and saw that it was cloudless and blue and felt tears welling up in her eyes at the beauty of it all.

She closed her eyes as her emotions rendered her speechless, causing tears to spill onto her cheeks. She didn't know if it was Cedric trying to speak to her or nature itself, but either way, she understood that the message was that life would still go on as long as she was a willing participant in it.

She pulled out her wand on a whim and decided to Apparate to Hogwarts to see just how well the construction Harry and Ron had both mentioned was going. She knew that the anti-Apparition wards were currently down as the reconstruction went on so she appeared on site without a hitch.

To her amazement, the corridor she had been envisioning was surprisingly still intact. She slowly made her way down the hallway and stood in front of the empty expanse of wall in front of her. The door materialized and she smiled as she reached out to grasp the familiar handle. She had missed this so much.

She pushed the door open and found the room exactly as she remembered it: brown couches, fire blazing merrily in the fireplace, and the same coffee table all waiting for her.

Just as she stepped inside, the door closing behind herself, she became aware of another person who was occupying the Room. She could see his crouched shoulders and brown hair and her heart warmed upon seeing her friend. "Scott," she said, only just realizing how much she had missed his company.

He had become like a brother to her over the past year and he watched out for her like she was his little sister. After the stress, depression, and overall craziness of the past month and a half, his comforting friendship was more than welcome.

He turned quickly, surprised, and Hermione's heart shuddered in her chest as he shot up from his seat.

Impossibly warm, shining grey eyes locked onto hers, the exhaustion that surrounded them momentarily forgotten as he looked at her. "Not quite," Cedric said quietly, running a hand through his brown hair that Hermione immediately could pick out the reddish hues shining in.

He moved out from behind the couch and Hermione couldn't utter a word. It was as if she was finally able to see after being blind for so long, her heart picking up speed and her breath catching in her throat as she watched him.

He stood wordlessly a few feet away from her for a minute, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a book, but it was hard for Hermione to distinguish what it was because of the dim lighting. "Scott gave me this when I was discharged from St. Mungo's a few weeks ago," Cedric told her slowly, his voice still equally as soft as it was when he first spoke, as if he were afraid of waking someone who was sleeping soundly.

He held up the book and the light slanted over its unmistakable, crumbling burgundy cover. _The Extreme Uses of Dark Magic_; the very book that had saved Cedric. "You wanted to give it a look?" Hermione supplied, her head feeling incredibly weightless as she stood in front of him. She had forgotten how much his presence made her head spin, like she had just stepped off of an incredibly fast roller coaster.

He smiled that crooked smile Hermione loved and she couldn't help but smile shyly back. "Scott said I needed to see the page about the Resurrection Spell," Cedric explained. Hermione nodded to indicate that she was listening, partially wondering if she were imagining this whole interaction to begin with. "Which is why I am glad to see you," he said, looking down at the book as he flipped through the pages to find the correct one.

Hermione looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Cedric smiled when he found the page and walked over to Hermione, his finger pointing at a particular passage. "Read it out loud."

Hermione took the book from him, trying to ignore how the heat radiating off of him was making it difficult for her to breathe properly. She scanned the familiar page, her eyes running over the brief summary and through the steps to make the potion, followed by the spell itself. She was about to ask him what he was talking about when she finally saw what he had been pointing at.

Beneath the spell, there was another passage of writing that she had evidently missed. She shot him a puzzled look before reading what was written across the yellowed parchment. "'Resurrectionem Alica is a means to an end. If the love shared between the caster and the departed soul is pure on behalf of both individuals, success and happiness are sure to follow. Sacrifices must be made in order to maintain the balance because love is more powerful than any other form of magic.'"

Hermione's voice had dropped to a nearly inaudible whisper by the end of it, her heart thudding with disbelief and anticipation.

"I don't remember a lot of what happened between my death and resurrection," Cedric murmured. Hermione's eyes darted up to look at him, startled by just how close he was to her.

"You went to Cho," Hermione breathed, lost in the liquid pools of silver that were his eyes.

She saw sadness flash through his eyes for a moment as he said, "I did, but I can't now."

The implication of his words was startling, and Hermione's mouth fell open, her eyes watering as she realized that Cho had been killed in the battle.

She was about to open her mouth to say something to him when he spoke again, his eyes filled with a renewed glow. "As I was saying, I don't really remember a whole lot about what happened while I was dead," Cedric repeated, his lips quirking up at the corners. Hermione watched him in awe as he spoke, entranced by the simplest things about him like how his lips formed each word. She found herself staring at those lips for a little longer than she had intended, and as she looked back into his eyes, she couldn't help but wonder how they would feel against her own. "But there's one thing that's come back to me since then."

It was silent for a moment as Hermione fumbled for something adequate to say. "What's that?"

He stepped closer to her and her breathing hitched when he reached his hand up to cup one cheek, running his thumb across the smooth skin. "How much I need you," he breathed before pulling her face to his.

Electricity shot through Hermione's body as his lips connected to hers and it only took her a second to collect her bearings at the realization that Cedric Diggory was kissing her before she wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes fluttering shut, and kissed him back with all she had. He pulled her closely to him, gently cradling her body to his chest with one large palm splayed across the small of her back as the other made its way to her hair.

Hermione felt like each of his kisses breathed life into her, enlivening her once more. Cedric broke the passionate kiss to spread playful, loving, tender kisses all over her face before trailing his way down the soft skin of her neck and back up to her lips again. Hermione's hands had worked their way into his hair, tousling it beyond any hope of trying to tame it into something that looked presentable again, wrapped up completely in Cedric and the overwhelming feelings he was pouring into each kiss.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and smiling, Hermione stared into his eyes and could have sworn that for just a second, they were two twinkling stars.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>: I hate to say this, but that is actually the last chapter. *sobs* What am I going to do with my life now that I am finishing all of the stories I've been working on for years?

Pleeeasseee tell me what you think. :) Did I have you going there about Cedric being dead? It was making me so sad to write.

I love you guys. I'll be writing an epilogue soon, but we'll see about when I'm going to be posting it. Thanks for being awesome and supportive through this whole process. I know it's taken a while, but we all made it out alive!

I'm exhausted because it's nearly five in the morning now and I've stayed up all this time just for all of you lovely people in order to get this chapter to you. I'm going to cut it off here because I honestly don't have the steam to keep going for much longer, haha.

You are wonderful, amazing, awesome people.

Remember: peace, love, and hugs (not drugs).

~Caitlyn


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Disclaimer: **It makes me sad every time I have to say it, guys. Please don't make me do it again…

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><p><em>I wrote this chapter as an afterthought. I realized that the last chapter seemed abrupt and rushed which partially might have had to do with the fact that I was writing at five in the morning, so I did a few things. Firstly, I took out the last two mini-paragraphs because I decided that they were the main reason it didn't seem to flow in a good way. Secondly, I opted to add this as an explanation chapter. I decided to include it to give you guys more insight into what's happening on Cedric's side of things, plus I tie up a few loose ends that otherwise would have been left alone.<em>

_Prepare yourselves for some trippy stuff._

_Enjoy! :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five<strong>

* * *

><p>Cedric had been in pain before. When he was eight, he was soaring around his yard on the new broomstick that he'd gotten from his dad for his birthday. The wind had picked up and made the ride rougher than usual, but he continued on at a tremendous speed while laughing profusely.<p>

Suddenly, a particularly strong gust hit his broomstick in just the right way that it bucked him off, pitching him helplessly into the air and turning his peals of joy into screams of panic. He threw his arms out to brace himself for the impact of the hard ground as he picked up speed in his descent, screwing his eyes tightly shut in fear.

His right arm made contact before the rest of his body did and he let out a shriek of pain as it twisted and bent in an awkward way before his entire body followed it, bouncing once with a resounding _thud_ before settling in the grass. He lay in the soft grass, tears streaking down his face as he cradled his arm and his parents ran over to him anxiously.

His mother was a healer, thus able to immediately diagnose him as having broken his arm. The enchantments she had to perform to refuse the bone together were possibly even more painful than actually breaking it had been, but he got through that.

But this—_this _was agony. He couldn't even focus on what was happening to him anymore, his eyes clouded over by the intense suffering he was undergoing, the relentless torture of the large snake's lunges toward his defenseless body.

There was no hope for him, no savior to bring him back from the depths of Hell this torture was putting him through as his body shuddered involuntarily at the impact of another attack by the venomous snake. He could feel the blood gushing out of him with each pumping heartbeat.

This was dying in the most excruciating sense of the word, the most horrific way to draw out the syllables.

His veins were coursing with blistering fire, charring his arteries as the venom made its steady journey throughout his body. The pain was beyond even the point of being unbearable as the seconds dragged on and he writhed and twitched uncontrollably in the slick mud where his blood had mingled with the dust.

His mind was a frenzy of thought, everything blending together as he prayed ceaselessly for it to end one way or another.

He kept experiencing flashes of things he couldn't understand—Weasley's face, his cobalt eyes searching his own, feeling the phantom of hot tears that weren't his own streaming down his face. He knew it wasn't his tears or his face, that Ron wasn't there, but nothing made sense because with each millisecond that passed, he was dying, dying, dying and he didn't want to die, not yet, not like this, not when he had just gotten back, not before he could avenge Cho.

Each ragged breath was more painful than the last and he could barely breathe between cries of pain he could no longer hear himself shouting hoarsely, and then the razor-sharp fangs were hooking into his skin and tearing into him again, ripping him apart piece by piece.

He was alone, but he thought Scott and Aiden had been right there the whole time and he couldn't understand what happened to them and why they weren't helping him. He wanted it to end but he didn't want to die. He wasn't ready but the blood kept pouring out, his head beginning to feel fuzzy from the blood loss and he couldn't focus, his wand was too far away for him to even try to reach it and he was struggling to gasp for air.

Blood roared in his ears as he saw the snake poised for its final attack and he could feel fear that he somehow knew didn't belong solely to him mingling with his own in the strangest way, his senses heightened and dulled at the same time as he lay alive but near death, his vision failing him.

Blood—his blood—was dripping from the viper's muzzle, its mouth opened to reveal the long, bloodied fangs that drove him to the violent grave he was laying in. It lunged just as his eyes began rolling back in his head, a flash of green light blinding him before he became engulfed in darkness.

_Hermione…_

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><p>His head lolled limply backward, his eyelids occasionally fluttering open infinitesimally before abruptly shuttering closed again. He could feel a stranger carrying him, their arms crushing him to their warm body in an attempt to keep from jostling him as their feet pounded on the ground below them. He felt the stranger's heartbeat pounding through their shirt, their labored breaths indicating the struggle they were fighting through to keep a hold on him.<p>

"_I need a Healer now! He's going quickly!"_

Cedric knew that voice, but he couldn't quite figure out who it belonged to. His whole body was numb as he was abruptly handed off to someone else, the hasty movement jerking his head and causing his eyes to flash open for the briefest moment.

The last thing he saw before it went black again was a tall, achingly familiar teenage boy covered in dust and blood with light brown hair and anxious, tear-filled brown eyes saying something to him that he couldn't understand, his trembling lips moving hurriedly to form words Cedric couldn't hear over the radio silence that filled his mind.

* * *

><p>Cedric felt a familiar tug at his navel that indicated he was Apparating and found himself falling a short distance onto his back. He couldn't move and his eyes were wide open, staring into a dim, foggy sky. The milky glow of the moon was muted by the gloomy grey clouds that loomed in front of it, casting the landscape in eerie shadow. He could feel the frosty grass brushing against his cold skin, but his whole body was numb as he blankly stared ahead.<p>

A strange sound filled his eardrums, softly repeating as if on a loop.

_Tick, tick, tick._

He heard a startled gasp beside him as soon as his body made contact with the ground before a face that was obscured by the shadows entered his vision, looming over his own pale face.

It was a girl—that much he could tell—but he couldn't make out her facial features very well in the dim lighting. She had a mass of curls standing out from her head that surrounded her slim face and he couldn't help but curiously wonder why she was wearing a tank top when it felt so chilly outside.

He wanted to say something to her, wanted to move, but he was frozen in place, his traitorous eyes immobile and unblinking. He wasn't even sure that he was breathing.

The mystery girl's mouth opened as a horrified expression contorted her shocked features, and he could see tears beginning to pool in her eyes as panic settled into her demeanor but she was as motionless as he was. Her eyes began blinking furiously as tears began spilling onto her cheeks, the moonlight that reflected in the moisture causing them to appear like pure silver before they dripped off of her quivering chin.

Just as his curiosity was piqued, she disappeared into a cloud of smoke and he was swallowed up by the thickening fog.

_Tick, tick, tick._

He wasn't sure how much time passed between that instant and the next, but eventually he could finally move his limbs freely. He sat up as the fog began to clear, surprised when he found himself inside the Room of Requirement. It was decorated almost the same way it always was whenever he found refuge there during the Triwizard Tournament days, the twin sofas placed before a merrily crackling fire, but there was a wooden desk in the corner.

He didn't know why, but he was inexplicably drawn to it. His eyes didn't waver from the single black quill sitting on a stack of fresh, blank parchment. Inquisitively, he reached out for the quill, startled when his hand went straight through the old, polished desktop and everything else sitting on top of it, his arm disappearing up to his elbow where the quill was sitting.

He retracted his arm and stared at it for a moment before it sprang to life on its own.

_Dear Hermione_, it wrote, and he stared in awe as the quill magically dragged across the page in his own tidy, slanted handwriting without an inkwell in sight.

Cedric's brows knitted together as he watched the parchment shuffle around, the quill poised motionlessly in the air as a fresh piece laid itself out on the desk. Slowly, the quill lowered itself to the parchment and began tirelessly writing again in his distinct script.

Three letters were written before his astonished eyes, each oddly signed off by his best mate, Scott Logan. As he watched the quill move across each piece of parchment, he saw the letters at the beginning of each sentence glow.

One by one, as they folded and tucked themselves away into envelopes that magically sealed on their own, each of the glowing letters lifted off the page and floated before him. It was a jumble of letters he couldn't understand at first, but when the last envelope was sealed and settled itself down on the desk on top of the others, the quill going back to lie in its rightful place beside them, they began to shift around.

A message began to form in the very air before him that looked as though he'd written it himself as the letters arranged themselves. His eyes scanned over them interestedly as the last few fell into place.

_I need your help, Hermione. Meet me soon. I can't wait to see you._

_-Cedric Diggory_

Before he could fully register what that even meant, however, he felt the same tug once again before involuntarily Disapparating.

For the second time, he felt his body drop to the ground and immobility fixed him in place once more as the frost-covered grass welcomed his limp body. His eyes were transfixed on the glowing area of the sky where the moon begged to shine through the clouds, fog consuming the edges of his unblinking vision.

_Tick, tick, tick._

His thoughts were like a record that had been played far too many times, skipping and replaying but still too choppy to be fully comprehensible.

_Where am I and why can't I move or speak and why does nothing make sense to me, why is everything blurring together and why does time seem so irrelevant?_

The sound underwent a crescendo before decrescendoing back into the background once more—_tick, tick, tick._

He heard the same gasp as before and the girl's face appeared before his again. Her hands were shaking as she dug the heels of her palms into her eyes to hastily wipe away the tears glistening in them.

He wanted to comfort her, ask her why she kept crying whenever he saw her, but mostly, he wanted to know who she was. The shadows that hid her identity from him were frustrating, but he had no way to express any of these thoughts because his disloyal body refused to move. He stared expressionlessly up at the sky, up at her sorrowful face that was now mostly blocked by her delicate hands. He saw her bite her trembling lip and a wave of compassion coursed through him that only added to his growing irritation.

After a few long moments, she lowered her hands and shifted slightly in her sitting position just enough that the faint, pale light finally graced her fair skin. Had he been in control of his own body, his jaw would have dropped in shock as the murky moonlight lighting up her tearstained face made it faintly shine like porcelain, her identity no longer shadowed in mystery.

Hermione Granger's brown eyes were looking upon him through a glossy sheen of tears, the poignant grief in her expression shaking Cedric to the core. He couldn't understand why she was so sad, her stricken gaze transfixed on his face.

She lifted a dainty, quivering hand and hesitantly reached toward him, a gesture he watched in innocent fascination through his peripheral vision. Why was she doing this?

Her smooth fingertips briefly brushed against his numb cheek, an action that sent electrical sparks jolting through his body with a surprising mix of astonishment and pleasure, before she immediately retracted it as if he'd burned her.

He saw her chest heaving erratically, her eyes shining with alarm as she looked at him and he felt suddenly very vulnerable and bewildered by her enigmatic behavior.

Had he done something wrong?

He tried fighting the invisible barriers that held him frozen in place in an attempt to get to her, but he could only watch her through his glassy, fixed eyes as a storm of muddled, disorderly thoughts raged inside of him.

Throughout it all, the sound was constant, never-ending; infinitely echoing in his mind and reverberating in his eardrums.

_Tick, tick, tick._

He watched as she stared at her hand, the anxiety building inside of her causing her to shiver, taking in the guarded look she sent him before she took a deep breath and reached toward him again. There was a part of Cedric that was drawn to her touch for some inexplicable reason, so when her fingers grazed his face for the second time, he couldn't help the surge of comfort and relief that coursed through him.

He watched as she battled with the fear inside of herself while her hand lightly skimmed over cheeks, forehead, and chin before moving to gently stroke his hair.

A warm buzz settled deep inside of his soul as she pulled her hand back with a look of contentment shining in her soft eyes, the smallest pleased smile gracing her lips for a moment.

Thankfulness was surging through every fiber of his being for the contact she had just made with him despite the fact that they were virtually strangers, the unease he felt with his surroundings diminished completely by her act of kindness.

Just as her hand was reaching out to him again, he felt his thoughts surround them, encompassing them with the two words that were echoing in his mind over and over again: _"Thank you."_

Everything was consumed by a rush of fog again, and Cedric found himself watching her in the library. She looked exhausted as she slouched over a thick book, a few others scattered around the table she was seated at. He walked over to her and saw the notes she had sitting next to her, reading the rushed scrawl she had written.

There were bits and pieces of sentences, some of it written out in bullet point note format and some scribbled across random corners or open areas of blank parchment, all of which had something to do with ghosts and death. One section was written out as a laundry list—_life, death, ghost, resurrection, life_.

There was a furious series of squiggles where it appeared that she blotted something out in the middle of that, and he followed the loopy arrow she had drawn between "resurrection" and "life" that led to a question mark she aggravatedly circled a number of times.

He stood beside her for quite some time, glancing at other random bits of parchment that surrounded her with similar writings and scribbles etched onto them, before realizing that she couldn't see him. It was actually a bit of a relief because it allowed him the chance to observe Hermione without her knowledge of it.

There it was again, the sound emerging from the dull hum it had become in his mind.

_Tick, tick, tick_.

He watched her blow a stubborn ringlet out of her face and huff in frustration as it fell back where it was before slamming the book she was reading shut. She tucked the lock of hair behind her ear and sighed to herself as she glanced at the stacks of books around her, expelling her anger in that one breath. He saw the tiredness creeping into her expression as she slumped forward and put her head in her hands.

"_What am I going to do?" _She whispered to herself, desperation evident in her voice as she peered up from her palms to the countless tomes set out on the table.

He looked again at her notes, peering intently between the question mark enclosed by about five dark circles and the laundry list.

_life, death, ghost, resurrection, life_

That meant something to him. It stirred a feeling of knowledge inside of him, as though he had a sense of familiarity when those words were all involved.

_life, death, ghost, resurrection, life_

He glanced at the question mark again, the way she had frustratedly scratched it onto the paper before circling it so forcefully that she nearly punctured the parchment.

And then, as though he had found the missing piece after so long, everything clicked together like a jigsaw puzzle right when he was forcibly Apparated away again.

_Tick, tick, tick._

He was on his feet this time, the freedom he felt at still being able to move unfathomable as he stood immersed in the dense fog. He could make out wooden beams nailed together around him, forming what he belatedly realized was some sort of spectator stands. He looked around the benches and spotted several signs and banners hung around them.

He knelt down when he saw one laying dejectedly at his feet and flipped it over so he could read the front. It was a black sign with bright yellow lettering across it that formed the words, "Diggory for the Victory!"

He raised his eyebrows and read a few other signs before coming to the ultimate conclusion that he was standing in the deserted Triwizard Tournament stands. He glanced down at his clothes and realized for the first time that he was even dressed in his yellow and black Champion attire.

He put the sign on a bench nearest to him and made his way over to the Hogwarts side of the stands, sitting in the section and allowing the memories to come back to him. He remembered watching his fellow students cheer and whoop as he and Harry competed to the best of their abilities against the other two Champions, the memory still so crisp that he could almost hear their frenzied shouts filling the crisp night air.

The fog dissipated enough that he could begin making out a strange, dark shape in the distance. His heart began pounding with fear as he squinted just enough to realize it was the maze.

He had died in that maze.

_Cedric_.

He heard the faintest whisper of surprise and turned to see Hermione sitting in the grass quite a ways from himself, her eyes transfixed on him. He realized that he wasn't hearing her speak, but rather listening to her thoughts, when he heard her question about why he was there.

He remembered what had occurred to him in the library before he was whisked away from her, that thought alone driving him to speak. "I thought it would be easy enough to guess."

He watched intently as Hermione jumped in surprise, the incredulity she felt flooding her thoughts. _Could he—_

Cedric quirked a humored eyebrow. "Hear your thoughts?" He supplied for her. He smiled slightly when she nodded wordlessly, her eyes wide. "Yeah."

She kept staring at him as if he had grown two heads, her disbelief evident even from the distance Cedric was sitting at. _That's impossible._

She was entertaining him far more than he was willing to admit as he raised his brows in amusement. "Nothing is impossible, Hermione," he told her as he stood up, slowly descending the stairs and stopping at the bottom row.

He walked out to the railing and leaned lightly on it, wondering briefly if he would ever forget how comical she looked as she watched his every move with her wide, captivated eyes after he had told her he could read her mind.

After a few minutes, he relented and decided to go on with what he needed to tell her. "You can talk now, you know," he said quietly.

She let out a deep breath, and he saw her relax upon processing the revelation. "You still didn't answer my question," she said softly. Her eyes were staring curiously at him as she asked, "Why are you here?"

He honestly wasn't sure about that himself, but before he could say anything, he heard a thud close to her.

He squinted into the dimness and finally understood why he wasn't able to move before—he had been the dead body that just landed beside her. He heard her gasp like the other times and couldn't bear to see her break down again.

"Don't," he warned her as she began to turn around.

She turned to look at him questioningly over her shoulder. "What?"

He was bewildered by the strange way she was acting. "You know what," he said, his lips pulling into a frown and brows knitting together in confusion. "You know what's happening."

Her eyes shone with sincerity as she murmured, "I don't know what you're talking about." She seemed to hesitate for a moment before ultimately turning around against his word of caution.

He was not prepared for what happened next: Hermione Granger officially lost all her marbles.

"CEDRIC!" She screamed, her high-pitched wail piercing the air as she scrambled over to frantically shake his body.

Cedric watched her, stunned by her reaction to seeing his body lying there on the ground. He heard her gasping, struggling to breathe through the sobs that threatened to overtake her small frame.

"Stop this right now," he heard her hiss before taking his lifeless face between her hands and shaking it. The whole experience was too bizarre to put into words—watching her slip past the point of logical thought processing as she continued trying to rouse his dead body, Cedric himself still reeling at the out of body experience he was having as he stood a distance from his own lifeless corpse—but ultimately, it was her evident anguish over his death that struck a chord within him. "Cedric," she growled, the demanding undertone wavering in her voice amidst the evident distress, "quit joking around and sit up!"

He could see her getting more and more worked up as she continued but he couldn't understand why. He remembered that she was working toward finding a cure for him alone, but that still didn't justify why she was reacting this way. He felt an insatiable urge to rush out to her and calm her down, collect her in his arms and pull her close to remind her that he was right there with her.

He wanted to comfort her the same way she had comforted him. He owed it to her.

"You can't be dead, Cedric!" She whispered brokenly, the sound of her plea nearly splitting his heart in two. He stepped out of the stands and strode toward her to lessen the distance between them before standing in front of her.

"I'm not," he interjected hurriedly to put an end to her grieving, his heart thudding as he saw the way she was cradling his body to herself.

She jumped, the panic dancing in her teary eyes as she jerked her head toward him. "What do you mean?"

_Tick, tick, tick._

He thought about the way his body was beginning to fade before answering, "There's still time, Hermione."

She could still save him, but she couldn't do it alone. He saw the way she was suffering in the library and couldn't bear to have her continue doing that on his behalf. He had asked for a favor too large for her to carry on her shoulders alone and this was the only way he could fix it.

"How much?" She pressed.

He ignored her question because, truthfully, he didn't know. Time was ticking, although he wasn't sure how synced up he was with the concept of time anymore. It was all running together to him. "You're close, but you need help," he told her, thinking about Scott. Cedric looked around suddenly when a thought occurred to him.

The fading process was only going to progress more and more quickly, something that it had already proven.

"You need to hurry," he said quickly, looking at her with fear shining in his eyes. He wasn't ready to disappear. He didn't want to die. "Your time is almost out."

And that's when he understood the soft ticking sound that had been playing in the back of his mind ever since his first strange encounter here with Hermione.

_Tick, tick, tick._

The clock was always ticking, ticking, ticking.

He could hear her speaking to him, demanding to know information that he didn't have, but he was consumed by the terror that had begun to take hold of him.

_Tick, tick, tick._

"Hurry," he whispered before the world swirled into darkness.

And, like the beat of an incessant drum, the sound of the clock continued to chip away at him.

_Tick, tick, tick._

When he opened his eyes again, he was stretched out in a dappled patch of golden sunlight on the ground. He sat up, looking around at the trees that surrounded him and trying to piece together where he was.

What had happened before he got here?

He couldn't remember. Something about a snake and a green light kept coming to mind but he couldn't understand how those two were related so he ignored that thought.

He heard muffled sounds of laughter and stood up, shifting so that he stood behind a tree and cautiously looked around it to see where the source was coming from.

He was staring into a sunshine-filled clearing and could clearly spot Naomi, Andrew, and Cho. There was a fourth person with them, another girl, but her back was to him so all he could make out was a waterfall of curls cascading past her shoulder blades.

"Naomi found me," Cho said in a teasing voice while pointing at Naomi, who responded with a shrug.

"What can I say?" She joked. "I have a gift."

As Cedric stood there watching them smiling and laughing, he couldn't help but feel as though something wasn't quite right. He kept his eyes on the fourth person, something nagging him inside that she was out of place.

That's when it happened—everything came crashing down on him.

Naomi and Andrew lifelessly sprawled in the corridor.

Cho's mangled body.

The snake attack.

Blood, so much blood…

"Let's go again!"

Cedric shuddered, unable to breathe properly when he recognized exactly who that excited feminine voice belonged to.

No, no, no.

She didn't belong here. She was supposed to be with Weasley and Potter right about now, cradled in their arms while they comforted her over the losses they had to face after the battle was over.

"I'll be it this time," she offered gleefully, turning toward him and heading straight toward the very tree he was hiding behind.

The smile on her face made him feel sick, the dread inside of him intensifying as she began counting as part of their game, hiding her happy face behind her hands while the others scattered. Everything about this picture was wrong.

"Hermione," he whispered, startling her out of her counting.

His heart was pounding as she looked up and narrowed her eyes to peek through the trees to find the source of his voice. He saw the curiosity on her expression as she said in a soft voice, "Hello?"

He reached out and grabbed one of her soft, pliable ones. He couldn't help but remember the way it felt when she trailed it along the planes of his face that night in the dark, the immense solace he found simply by feeling her touch him.

Memories bubbled deep within his mind, beckoning to him like sunlight glinting off of the ocean's waves, but he couldn't reach them. He saw flashes of Hermione in them—her smile, her laugh, the way she looked curled around a book when she slept, her determined face, how her curls looked when the firelight danced across them, her freckles—but couldn't pause one long enough to get a good glimpse at it before seeing the next.

She wasn't meant to be here like he was, like the others were. Hermione was full of love and light. She was supposed to be living, spending time recuperating with her family and friends before taking on the world in the way only she could.

Death wasn't supposed to take Hermione Granger so soon.

"You shouldn't be here," he murmured, his brows drawing together as he looked into her inquisitive eyes.

He blinked and he was in a sterilized hospital room when his eyes opened again. He knew better than anyone where exactly he was because of all the times he'd come up with his mother throughout his childhood: St. Mungo's.

As he shifted his weight to his arms to push himself up on the bed, he felt soreness emanating from his chest. He looked down when he felt a strange cottony fabric rubbing against his skin and saw that his torso was wrapped in gauze. He had a dull headache throbbing in his temples as he moved to a sitting position, feeling extremely disoriented.

His mind was clouded with muddied, unclear thoughts. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious, but he still felt the pull of strong medicinal drugs lulling him gently back to sleep. He fought it off, trying to remember what he had just dreamt about.

Nothing was making sense to him as images of trees, foggy skies, and Hermione Granger kept playing in his head.

* * *

><p>Most days would pass in Cedric's monochromatic hospital wing without much excitement.<p>

He wasn't allowed to have very many visitors because of the critical condition he had been brought to the hospital in, so he only saw his parents, Scott, and Aiden at least once a day.

Healers changed his bed sheets and bandages every day, the latter at least four times. He had been informed that the venom had almost reached his heart by the time Scott rushed him into the hands of frantic Healers and that, combined with the excessive amount of blood he had lost, it was a miracle that he was still alive.

He had also been told by Scott that he was in a comatose state for two weeks. "I thought I'd lost you again, mate," Scott confessed to him, his voice cracking with emotion.

It had been a week since he had regained consciousness and, although his brain was still a mess of tumbling, disjointed, mismatched thoughts and memories spliced together, he kept seeing one face dominating over all of it.

Hermione Granger.

Cedric pulled on a loose fiber sticking out of his sanitized dressings as he said, "I understand it now."

He saw Scott lift his lowered head in confusion. "What?"

Cedric turned to him and smiled despite everything that had happened to him. "Why you kept bugging me about my dreams," he replied softly. "I remembered," he added after seeing Scott's expression shift to one of shock.

A few seconds ticked by before he asked, "About Hermione?"

Cedric nodded, leaning back and closing his eyes. He could picture her perfectly behind his shuttered eyelids, his emotions as mixed up as his mind was. Why did he feel something so strongly towards her, something magnetic and unfathomable that drew him inevitably to her?

The memories that came back to him from his dreams and in that moment that Nagini was about to strike were connected in some way but he couldn't fill in the gaping holes between them to understand how they resulted in his heart pounding the way it did at the mere utterance of her name.

He could see her brown eyes sparkling with inquisitiveness as she looked at him, her pink lips pulling into an amused smile. She was sitting there in his memories, waiting for him to find the key that would unlock all the secrets she guarded.

Cedric turned to Scott imploringly, his eyebrows pulling together. "Why does everything I do seem to point back at her?"

He saw her sitting in the Great Hall with her friends, the hurt in her eyes as he sat with Cho after being resurrected. He saw the stolen glances she aimed toward him, the deep look of longing in her face that softened her eyes. He saw the distraught look on her face when they locked eyes after he bumped into her in the corridor before she quickly covered it up, the way she ran from him in such haste that she barely uttered a handful of words to him.

His fascination with her, his yearning to understand how he seemed so achingly familiar with all of her quirks, only served to confuse him more.

A knowing look dawned on Scott's face, as if he had been aware of something far longer than Cedric could comprehend. His lips quirked into the smallest but most significant smile as he said, "Because it _does_."

* * *

><p>The day had finally come that Cedric could leave the hospital. Scott, of course, arrived to help him pack up the rest of his things. "She's still not responsive," his friend murmured as they folded the extra clothing Cedric's parents had brought throughout the week.<p>

Cedric flourished his wand and muttered a spell to downsize them so he could shove them in his pocket for safekeeping. Worry weighed him down upon processing the news. Scott had kept him up to date on Hermione and told him that despite his attempts to provide the same service to her in regards to Cedric's wellbeing, she seemed too wrapped up in herself to even notice he was there at all. Scott told him that all she did was lay wordlessly in bed staring blankly into space.

"Have Potter and Weasley gone to see her?" Cedric asked.

She had been discharged a few days before he was roused from his coma and had been unresponsive ever since. Two weeks had already gone by that way.

Scott nodded, letting out a sigh as he handed Cedric the last folded article of clothing. "Yeah, but nothing's helping. We're all at a bit of a loss here because we don't know why she's acting like this."

Cedric downsized the shirt and tucked it into his pocket, mulling over his brooding thoughts. Was there any way that _he _could help her? He couldn't bear to picture her wasting away like that but he didn't know the first thing he could do about it.

He was about to make his way toward the door when Scott tapped his shoulder. "Hey, Ced," he said. Cedric turned and looked at him, surprised when he pulled a book out of some deep pocket in his robes. Cedric recognized the book somehow, his eyes tracing over the crumbling burgundy cover as Scott proffered it toward him. "This will answer your questions."

Cedric wanted to ask what he meant, but opted to wordlessly take the book instead. "Thanks, mate," he told him with a courteous smile before stepping outside the room to Apparate home.

* * *

><p>The book had been sitting on his bedside table for two weeks when Cedric finally decided to sit down and pore over it. He skimmed his fingers lightly over the old cover, unsure of what answers he would find inside.<p>

Where was he supposed to look, anyway?

His fingertips drifted to the edge of the cover before gingerly flipping it open. His eyebrows raised in surprise when he saw a scrap of parchment tucked neatly between the front cover and the first page, something written across it in Scott's untidy scrawl.

He picked it up and skimmed over the words, a smile slowly lighting up his face as he did so.

_Ced—_

_You wanted to know why Hermione seems so important to you. I bookmarked the page about the Resurrection Spell for you and I recommend you read it. You might be surprised by what you discover._

_-Scott_

Cedric set the note aside and allowed his probing fingers to feel the edges of the pages for the single dog-eared one. He sucked in a breath and hooked his index finger between two pages once he found it and stared at the ancient yellowed paper.

He squinted at the faded writing, barely able to make out the words: _Resurrectionem Alica._

Beneath the title was an inscription that summarized the use for the Resurrection Spell.

_Only the purest of heart, with true intentions, can retrieve a soul from the afterlife with mutual consent. It involves powerful earth magic that, if done even slightly incorrectly, will kill the caster. Every move must be exact._

His heart thudded as he remembered the surge of desperation that coursed through him when he argued with Hermione about going through with it the night of his resurrection. She was resolute in her decision to bring him back regardless of the consequences, a choice that made him shake his head incredulously as a chuckle escaped his lips.

His brave little lioness.

Without pausing to consider the fact that he had just taken ownership of her, he continued reading.

_At exactly midnight on the night when the sky is dark and moonless, a circle of seven candles must be lit around a cauldron filled with the Elixir of Life, from which the soul shall arise, replanted into its mortal shell. Each candle represents a characteristic of life: joy, sorrow, anger, forgiveness, courage, strength of will, and love._

_Below that was the formula for concocting the potion, called "The Elixir of Life."_

_His eyes drifted lower, reading over the incantation itself._

_Surge, cor de mei cor. _

_Expergiscere, oculos de mei oculos. _

_HALO, os de mei os. _

_Surge, amica mea._

He recognized the language as Latin but was a bit rusty as far as his own translation went, so he pulled out his wand to reveal what the words meant.

His eyes widened as they faded into perfect English.

_Rise, heart of my heart._

_Open, eyes of my eyes._

_Speak, mouth of my mouth._

_Rise, my love._

Had Hermione known the intimacy behind the powerful words she had spoken? His heart was pounding, picking up speed as a million questions began cropping up in his mind.

There was one last paragraph.

_Resurrectionem Alica is a means to an end. If the love shared between the caster and the departed soul is pure on behalf of both individuals, success and happiness are sure to follow. Sacrifices must be made in order to maintain the balance because love is more powerful than any other form of magic._

And that's when everything suddenly became crystal clear.

His enthrallment with her, his strange feelings for her and his craving for her touch.

He was in love with her.

Another set of memories crossed his mind—the distinct picture of the anguish and horror in her face when he asked for Cho in the Hospital Wing after waking up, her furtive glances, the blush that settled into her cheeks when they bumped into each other and her slightly labored breaths when they made eye contact.

He knew just as well as he knew his own name.

He was in love with her and she was just as irreversibly in love with him, a thought that made him draw his wand and Apparate to the only place where things made sense to him: the Room of Requirement.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: <em>After writing it all out, I might actually leave the story this way. I feel like adding an epilogue takes away from the journey that these two are about to embark on their own.

Hopefully this made things a lot clearer. It's supposed to be a little confusing and disorienting because of a few reasons.

One, Cedric still doesn't have all of his memories back. Actually, based on the direction I went with it, the memories that he's retained at this point are about the only ones he will ever regain.

The second is because all of those flashbacks took place while he was in a coma. In case it was hard to see, this chapter was meant to bring everything full circle. Whenever Hermione or Cedric go to this place I thought of while they're in a coma, time is infinite and limitless. In other words, there are no bounds of reality that keep them from going to different periods of time that, if they were conscious, would be in the past or future. He was in her dreams from the beginning because of their magical connection.

Speaking of which, in case it was unclear a few chapters ago, basically everyone's magic comes from stars. Usually it's one person's magical ability per star, but the one that gave Hermione and Cedric their power broke into two pieces that went to each of them. That's why they have such an intricately entwined magical signature—because their magic is from the same source.

One last question I decided to answer in case anyone was wondering was why they couldn't remember their "dreams" after waking up. It's supposed to be like that feeling when you wake up and you know deep inside that you had an awesome dream, but you can't really remember what happened in it so you let it go.

Okay, I love you guys dearly but I honestly think this is the end. It seems like the right way to end it and I hope you liked it as much as I do.

This has been an unforgettable ride and I feel blessed to have been able to share it with all of you. Thank you for all of your kind words, criticisms, and friendships. You're all wonderful, fantastic people.

-Caitlyn


End file.
